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Breaking the Surface - Chapter 3: Brown Eyed Girl

Wow, I did not expect this to go on for so long but I guess I had a lot to say this time around. Hope you all enjoy it and please don't forget to leave reviews, favourites and follow if you really like the story! It is all really appreciated! I do not own Sing or any of its characters. That's Illumination Entertainment's stuff. I just own my OCs.

Also you can read and follow this story on it on Fanfiction.net or A03. Please have a read, leave comments, like and reblog!

Grabbing his wallet and shoving all the money he could find and knew was his into it, Lance shoved the slightly bulging plastic into his jeans pocket and sped out of the apartment door. Checking his phone for the cheapest places and the bus routes, Lance luckily caught sight of the coach he needed, sprinting towards it and quickly handing the money to the tired looking crocodile bus driver. With that, Lance quickly moved to the nearest free seat, making sure to sit at an angle so save breaking his quills and making the seat look more like swiss cheese.

Right, if I'm doing this, I'm doing it properly Lance thought, beginning to rattle off mental to do list. First off, I need business cards. New business cards. Don't think many animals will want my old ones. The memories of how his old cards had not yet subsided. Every joint Lance had visited after what he was now terming 'Ashgate' all had various ways of rejecting him.

After showing the bar's, club's or pub's manager his card, his full name embossed on it with his contact details and intricate L shaped logo, the managers would look at the card and seemed to have several options at their disposal.

The first one would be to ask him to leave politely, which at the start was fairly common. Then they all appear to have a meeting after a few weeks and decided asking him to leave impolitely was the best course. After a month or two, they must have had group chat open to discuss the Lance problem as they started asking him to leave with some nice bouncers. This appeared to be the norm until after Ashgate where the managers all must have had a little chat on Skype as all their bouncers seemed to be far too keen on throwing him out of the door.

Finally, they must have really had his persistence and the fact that, unlike Becky, he wasn't seeming to be getting the message so a couple of months ago Lance was asked to leave for the last time in the most courteous manner possible by a pack of patrons, chasing him from the bar throwing bottles and glasses after him, before chasing him down the street hurling the most well intended slew of profanities.

They should write a book about that Lance mused. 5 Easy Steps to Get Rid of Unwanted Performers. Glancing out the window, Lance realised how perilously close he had come to daydreaming past his stop. Hitting the stop button and holding onto a metal bar as the vehicle lurched to a halt, Lance flung himself off, yelling back a sharp shout of thanks to the irritated driver, ignoring his angry comments and began following his phone to the first destination.

His phone indicating his arrival, Lance gave the shop a quick once over. It was a pleasant enough looking brick building, with a sweet, understated pink sign with the words pins 'n' things looking as if it was transposed directly from the owner's handwritten message to the sign makers.

Pushing the door aside, a little tinkle coming from the bell, Lance looked round the shop. It didn't look like a standard stationery store, all straight lines and lifeless, this had more of a feel of a knick-knack place, filled with knitting things, tiny ornaments, plant pots, teddy bears and other plushies, china tea sets that only grandmothers on TV own, as well as the eponymous pins.

A young warthog, ear pierced, jet black hair with a line of blue, and idly fiddling with her phone stood behind the counter, not even realising Lance's presence which was unsurprising to be fair, the shop being about as populated as the moon.

"Hey" Lance said, moving over to the counter. "You do business cards, right?"

"Yeah" the warthog said, her yes not leaving the phone as she continued to type away.

"Well can you get me some?" Lance said, a little irritated at being ignored.

"Sure" came the monotone response, her hooves still clacking away at the phone.

Lance's limited patience was beginning to wear thin.

"Today please!" Lance exclaimed.

The warthog finally looked over at Lance with slight annoyance.

"Alright, don't get your quills in a knot" she replied, putting her phone in her pocket. "You got a design or something?"

"Yes, here" Lance replied, pulling out a sheet of paper and tossing it onto the counter.

The warthog picked it up and have it a quick scan, her face already judging his work.

"Er, not too complicated. How many d'you need?"

"I guess fifty to start with, like a start pack you know, then I can come back for more."

"Sure, whatever" the warthog rudely replied. "They won't be ready for a while, come back in an hour or two."

"Sounds good. Later"

"Later yourself" she replied, she attention straight back to her phone as Lance left the teen in the all too happy surroundings.

Exiting the shop, still a bit miffed by the warthog's manner and making a metal note to catch her name next time, Lance started gently walking down the street, taking in his surroundings. What with all the daydreaming on the bus he had only just began to realise that he wasn't actually sure where he was. Not seeing a sign or anything, Lance checked his location on his phone, with it bringing up Apolovia, Anopolis.

Huh, not heard of it before. Lance had thought he'd gigged quite extensively round the city. He'd been in numerous places, went a load of places with Ash and Becky, seen a load of things. Lance was sure this was just an anomaly. But, searching on the maps of the city, Lance started seeing names and places he hadn't even heard of, let alone set foot in.

How do I live here three, nearly four years now and barely leave the city centre? I've barely scratched the fucking surface.

Groaning a little at his lack of exploration, Lance decided just to search for his next item on the to do list. A cheap music shop. He knew that most animals would have their own guitars to learn but Lance just knew that some might not be able to afford expensive equipment like that off the bat. Hell, he remembered saving up for his first guitar that wasn't bought for him. So something simple that most animals could use would be a huge boon for business, so long as he could get something for a reasonable price.

His phone eventually brought up something that reviews all raved about it's reasonable prices and, quite fortunately, it wasn't too far away so he didn't need the bus again. Setting it as his destination, Lance once again obediently followed the electronic female guide.

With time to kill before his cards would be ready, Lance's legs began to look mat this new area in a bit more depth, looking at everything with new eyes as if he were an intrepid explorer looking discovering a new land.

The buildings weren't anywhere near as sleek and modern as the ones he was used to in the city centre, the architecture of the area seeming to be at least half a century old. Every structure he passed seemed to show the tell-tale signs of age. The concave rooftiles trying to hide its bald spots with moss coverings, brickwork wrinkled and blemished, windows faded and unfocused. The pavement slabs were wonkily put together and the road with untreated potholes. It was if the very street itself had been through a traumatic accident and the surgery, while successful, could never restore it to its previous physical prime.

Yet, despite its age and ailments, the street breathed life through every pore. Each building, though showing its signs of wear and tear, were all painted in glorious technicolour, celebrating its age while embracing the new, each window filled high with weird and wonderful stock that differed spectacularly from one pane to the next. The road, despite its handicap, was packed with cars, buses, and lorries, all adding to the incoherently soundtrack, with the jammed packed with animals of all species and persuasions, making their way here, there and everywhere. The street, no, the entire district was buzzing with life.

Lance, taking this all in, marvelled at the stark contrast to the clinical city centre. Free of animals, the city centre was as sterile and silent as mortuary, without any semblance of the personality that it had been in the daylight hours of its life. Apolovia though, even one first glance, breathed life through every nook and cranny, roaring with sound, refusing to be silent, exuding energy from every particle of its being.

That's it Lance thought, his pace barely that of a snail's. The place's energy. The constant charge of something. That invisible electric feeling that meant that something, anything, was on the precipice of happening. It could be something momentous or minor, life changing or life ending, but no matter what it was, it was there, just in touching distance, the faint spark within touching distance, waiting for someone to grasp it and feel the surge of change.

And, for the briefest of moments, Lance felt the static possibilities against his paw tips.

Shaking himself from his thoughtful reverie, Lance returned his attention to his phone, resuming his march to the music shop.

After leaving the main road, swerving this way and that through the grid like streets, the artificial navigator finally announced that they had arrived. Looking up at the shop in front of him, Lance wasn't particularly impressed. From the outside at least, the bottom layer of what looked like an unused apartment building looked like a rundown nickel and dime sort of place, a dull and damaged neon sign that read Marv's Music hanging above the door. Posters of bands and albums were plastered all around the windows to such an extent that it looked more like a notice board than something to advertise what the shop was actually selling.

Looking away from the shop and taking in the street he was on, Lance felt that the shop could not be more out of place if it tried. Down the road was a chic café that, despite the beginnings of autumn chills that September brought, had a smattering of students sprawled around outside street side seating areas.

Giving them a quick once over, Lance could tell their type immediately. Reclining in the hardback chairs, sipping the remains of their espressos, probably conversing on some notion about the decadence and impotence of capitalism, all the while keeping their eyes glued to their Chinese made phones while sporting their Bangladeshi sweat shop shoes. Yep, those were first year students, all entitled and ill-informed. They'd learn things weren't so black and white soon.

Directly across the street there was a book shop that, by the look of it, was only remaining upright through sheer force of will, the rest of the building above it trying to squash it from existence. The windows were straining from the books piled up high against it, a thin line at the top letting in its ration of natural light, and a musty smell wafting out of its open front door that could be invaded Lance's nostrils despite standing on the other side of the street.

The owner, a studious badger, was clearly visible in the doorframe, sitting behind the counter, paying no mind to the porcupine looking at him from across the way nor the sole bibliophile in his shop, so thoroughly enraptured in his own tome, or at least as enraptured as you could be behind drooping eyelids.

Looking back over the way he came, Lance spied a vintage clothes shop he somehow neglected to notice on his way down. Glass House, the name just legible at Lance's angle, appeared to be a standard sort of store, full of fantastic wares at exorbitant prices.

I should know Lance mused; the punk look doesn't come cheap, especially for porcupines.

The owner, a black-backed jackal dressed in torn jeans and untucked lumberjack style cheque shirt, lent against the door frame whilst taking a drag on her cigarette. The few animals that walked past her shop instead of deigning to enter, all silently judging her carcinogenic habit, were met with eyes that screamed complete and utter indifference, as if she didn't care that they could possible patronise her shop, allowing them to walk away with their internal condemnations and bland apparel.

Eventually returning his gaze to the store in question, Lance gave out a sigh and pushed the door open. Stepping inside, a single word popped into Lance's mind. Instruments. The place was festooned with instruments. Crawling with instruments. Instruments up the bloody wall.

Violins and mandolins, saxophones and banjos, xylophones and oboes, acoustics and drum sticks, and electrics that verged upon being completely eccentric. Everything was shoved into corners, attached to the walls, and in some cases hung from the ceiling with cords. If you told Lance that someone had decided to store all the world's instruments into this pokey little shop, in that moment Lance would have believed them wholeheartedly. Lance was surprised there was actual floor space, let alone room to move without him sucking in his gut.

Negotiating his way through the crowded room, Lance eventually made his way to a small opening at the back, revealing a till with a large red door behind it, and to the right of it large set of stairs for the next layer of the store.

Bounding up the stairs, Lance took a quick look at the upper floor. If the bottom floor was where the tools of musical creation was kept, then upstairs was where inspiration was sought. In the era of digital downloads, this place seemed to be out of time. CDs were stored by the rack, cassettes bundled in baskets, vinyl resting in piles, some having been leafed through as many times as a librarian's secret erotic paperback delight.

Venturing up the stairs and taking in the many musical delights, Lance aimlessly flicked through everything on display. It had everything. You name it and it was there. Ray Charles. Ed Sheeran. Joan Jett & the Blackhearts. Dereck & the Dominos. Nirvana. The Animals. Santana. The Beastie Boys. The Beatles, together and solo. N.W.A. Tracy Chapman. Amy Winehouse. Queen. The Afghan Wings. Marvin Gaye. Spoon. Can. Joy Division. David Bowie. The lost went on and on and on.

Wandering to the back of the room Lance noticed a small room with a heavy black door, the paint slightly chipped away revealing its metal flesh. Shrugging his shoulders and pushing the door open, Lance jaw nearly dropped off. It was a soundproof booth. He'd seen them before but usually they were like telephone booths so you could stand and listen to terrible quality music in privacy with gunged up headphones. This however, hell it looked like a professional recording booth. It was big enough to fit a good group of animals in to all just rock out to whatever music they wanted to hear, with a huge touch screen of music embedded into the wall listing anything and everything.

Exiting the room and taking in the entire spectacle before him, Lance could only think one thing in self-chastisement.

How the hell have I never been in here before?

Eventually coming down a little from the musical high he was on, Lance made his way back downstairs. While his eye roved over everything around him, picturing himself playing anything and everything, Lance tried to keep his focus on guitars. Cheap guitars. Browsing their selection, Lance proceed to marvel a certain guitar, pick it up, feel the smooth wood in his fur, the metallic strings against his paws and worn-down claws, then catch a glimpse of the price before sullenly putting it back and repeating the process with the next one along. By the sixth guitar, Lance was beginning to believe that the reviews were something the owner put up himself to get animals through the door.

If this was the cheapest place to get a decent guitar then I might be stuffed Lance reflected.

"Lookin' for sumit?"

Jumping at the voice, Lance turned round quickly to face the source but quickly found nothing.

"Oi, down here!" the voice sounded, slightly exasperated now.

Looking down, Lance saw what appeared to be a middle-aged pine marten, his unblinking eyes staring up at him, his face set with the tired expression as if he had been unceremoniously woken up. His clothes reflected it, a shabby looking white t-shirt with a couple of splodges of what looked like jam and washed jeans that only held what appeared to be a vague memory of the blue they used to be.

Is this the owner? Lance questioned internally.

"So, you gonna speak or have I gotta get someone that speaks dumb-dumb?" the tiny mammal spat, his eyes looking with him a dollop of condescension.

Well that answers that question then.

"Er, yeah" Lance replied, finally finding his voice. "I'm starting to teach guitar and I need something in case the students don't have their own gear."

The pine marten gave him the once over, foot to head, as if examining whether this animal was worth the time of day or whether he should go back to whatever exciting activity he'd been up to. Under the mammals unflinching scrutiny Lance, for all his bravado, couldn't help but feel a little off centre, even if the guy barely came up to his chest.

After looking as though he was mulling something over in his head, the gecko eventually shook his head, blowing out air as if he were accepting a daunting challenge or quest.

"Alright. What sort of size you lookin' at?" came the unenthused reply.

"Oh erm…" Lance hesitated.

The gecko sighed loudly. "Size of guitar numbskull!"

"Hey! Back off short stack!" Lance growled, getting a bit pissed off with the guy's attitude.

"Make me Stripes!"

Stripes? Lance thought? Where'd he get Stri… He quickly looked over his stiped t-shirt, striped long shirt underneath and the brown and white stripes in his quills. How has not noticed that before?

Taking Lance pondering for submission, the pine marten appeared to calm down.

"Alright Stripes, so I'm guessin' you're pretty new to this shtick so, and tell me if I'm right, you need somethin' in case an animal doesn't have a guitar of their own so you can get them into lessons and scoop the cash off them. Am I right?"

Lance, surprised by the guy's ability to succinctly understand his reason for visiting, merely.

"Thought so. Alright, now we're getting' somewhere. I'm guessing acoustic and, by the look at you Stripes" the pine marten said, giving him an exaggerated look "I'm guessing something cheap." Lance fought to keep the scowl off his face as the pine marten moved over to the guitars.

Don't piss him off. This place is cool. You may want to come back. Just play nice, get the guitar, get out.

"So, if you're wantin' something basic and for most animals, my guess would be about your size. You don't get a lot of elephants rockin' out do you? Or mice for that matter. It's why I get to up the prices for overly large or my size guitars. Make a killin' out of it. Your size though? Not so much. So a medium good enough for now Stripes?"

"Stop calling me Stripes and just get me a damn guitar!" Lance retorted petulantly. The pine marten merely shrugged.

"Hey, you're the boss Stripes" he replied, before suddenly whipping out a ladder concealed in between the rows of guitars and swiftly ascending before climbing all over the hung guitars, hopping from one to another with agility a frog would envy.

Climbers, what d'you expect? Lance thought, watching the pine marten expertly navigate the instruments before returning to stare at the shop floor.

Wonder what else is hidden in this place Lance thought, looking around, the sheer scale of the operation within such a tiny space still boggling his mind.

Employee aside, this Marv guy knows his stuff.

"Hey, found you one! Looks better than you do!" the aforementioned employee called out. "Get ready to catch!"

"Catch? Catch wha - "

Before Lance had time to process anything else, Lance looked up to see a guitar sailing down towards him at a rate of knots. Half swearing, Lance reached up to the guitar on reflex, flexing backwards paws outstretched, only managing to stop the instrument's decent mere inches away from his face. and barely managed to catch it before the thing clattered with his face.

"Pff, that clo-oooh, ow!" Lance yelped, losing his balance and falling to the floor, the guitar slipping from his grasp and hitting his head with a musical thud.

"Hey, don't go breakin' my stock Stripes! Now get up off your ass, you're clutterin' up the place." the pine marten scolded, somehow now standing over Lance's prone form, barely holding the laugh in his gut.

"Come on, get up ya bum." He said, offering a paw.

"I'm fine" Lance said, rejecting the offer, the pine marten retracting the offer with a shrug.

"Warn me next time you're gonna do some crazy shit like that!" Nearly smashed my head in."

"Hey, it would have been an improvement! Now come on, time's money, what d'ya think?" he said, gesturing to his choice.

Picking up the downed guitar, Lance gave it the once over.

It had certainly seen better days. It looked like fourth if not fifth hand. The wooden body had a few scuff here and there, the headstock having a few notable scratches and looking like it had been attacked with a knife at one point on the right hand side, with a section of it missing revealing its dry interior. The once shiny frets were dull, but at least all remaining. The strings at least looked now, without the excessive wires hanging off the top like you see some guitars.

All in all, it seemed fairly standard. Nothing too fancy, a bit busted but he wasn't looking for perfection, just something playable. Lance moved his paw over the strings. Sliding it up the fret, thy let out a soft metallic whine, making his quills shiver

That's the good stuff Lance thought, his eyes closed in bliss.

"Hey! You buyin' it or askin' it out? I ain't got all day ya know?" the pine marten grumpily interrupted.

"Mind if I give it a go?" Lance asked, choosing to ignore his comment, though the message didn't seem to reach his face which was plastered with a disgruntled look.

"Sure, whatever. Just don't break a string or anythin'. Wait, actually do. Need to get rid of some out back. Been cloggin' up the place since God knows when."

Ignoring his belly-aching, Lance sat on the ladder step since a chair apparently being the one thing the shop didn't have stuffed into it.

Getting comfortable, Lance closed his eyes, trying to think of what to play, going through his own material in his head, thinking what would sound good acoustically.

It wasn't a long search, his self-penned sure-fire hits not being too numerous to begin with and, no matter how much Lance tried to convince himself, he couldn't shake the feeling that an amp was needed to make it sound good.

Whatever, I'll do something else Lance conceded, his paws already manoeuvring into the opening chords.

Starting to play, Lance felt a sensation come over him that he had not felt in a while, a comfortable sensation, as if slipping back into a well-worn coat. His paws and arms moving with practiced skill fluidly, his actions precise yet with a natural calm flow. He hummed gently, near inaudibly, the words never escaping his lips, his eyes closed, not even the song he was playing even reaching his ears. He just let it happen, let it all flow out of him in silence, as the guitar spoke his silent soliloquy.

With the last note played, Lance opened his eyes, his paws still holding down the last chord. Smiling gently to himself, Lance suddenly realised he hadn't actually heard himself play, which is kind of a no-no when you want to hear how a guitar sounds.

Looking up, he saw the pine marten staring back at him with an unusual expression. Gone was the slightly patronising look, his face now had an inquisitive look, his head slightly tiled, his previously tightly folded arms now loosened. He seemed to be meditating on something, his eyes looking at him, rather beyond him.

"So erm" Lance began, breaking the silence "seems alright, least you're not giving me something unplayable."

The pine marten remained silent, still looking at Lance as if he was some strange curiosity.

"Yeah…" he eventually replied, his tone lower and eyes narrowing "seems like it."

A moment silence befell the two. What's happening here? One minute he's all in your face the next he could be a living statue. What gives?

"Well!" the pine marten exclaimed, returning to his past exuberance "we got a sale then or what Stripes? I've got stuff to do ya know?"

"Sure, seems alright. And don't call me Stripes."

"Sure thing… playboy" the pine marten said, a smirk tugging at his lips, his fangs revealing a little.

Lance paused. "What did you just say?" the anger rising in his voice, his paw clenching.

"What? You think I don't know who you are Mr Lance, heartbreaker and this month's internet's most infamous coming up to three months running? I may be getting on but I'm not a total geezer yet. I still know how to do the Facetube's an everything." He mocked, the grin becoming a full-on smirk with hints of laughter in behind his words.

The anger was rising behind Lance's eyes, his grip on the guitar fret tightening, his quills quivering with rage. Yet the mustelid kept going.

"You wouldn't believe the amount of animals coming in here after that article came out. So many animals were pissed! I even had this one guy come in, alligator I think, saying if he ever saw you he'd be hard pressed to not rip you apart there and then with his teeth. And he was one of the milder ones!"

He let out a huge belly laugh, not even registering the darkness welling in Lance's eyes, his entire being shaking but his mind still restraining himself. He'd heard it all before and worse.

"God, I'd not seen anger like that in years! And here you are, the notorious Lance! God, if I went out there and yelled you were here, I don't think I could ever get this shop clean! Doubt the Police would bother though, not with your scrawny ass. Probably convince themselves it was self-defence or something. Or maybe suicide. Probably wouldn't even send your dear old mother a message saying her cheating little boy had copped it!"

With that Lance lunged forward, grabbing the pine marten by his collar and hoicked him up, bringing him level with his eyes.

"Shut. Your Mouth." Lance said with cool anger.

"Touched a nerve then? He replied, his voice without a trace of fear.

"More than touched you fucking oversized rodent." Lance spat, the bile rising in his throat.

"I've had enough of your shit. Now, you take back what you just said or you and this guitar and gonna have a bit of disagreement." The guitar was now raised above the mustelid's head, Lance eye's not leaving the pine marten's almost bored eyes.

"You think a threat's gonna work here? I've handled worse than you Stripes. You're not cracking the top ten here mate. Just put the guitar down, buy it and leave. We can pretend this never happened."

Lance anger began to slowly diminish, realisation creeping into his eyes, becoming acutely conscious of precisely what he was doing.

"Okay, maybe I overstepped the mark a bit but, considerin' your reputation right now, d'you wanna add beating up a mammal half your size and twice your age to that? I mean, come on. You're dumb, but not that dumb."

Lance relaxed, the guitar slowly falling to his side and gently putting the mammals down, shame creeping into his mind and trickling down his face.

"Sorry" Lance mumbled, his voice thick with remorse.

"S'alright." He replied, fixing his crumpled shirt. "We both went a bit too far there."

"No shit Sherlock" Lance replied.

"Yeah, just get so into ribbing animals I sometimes I forget to get to know their limits first. Anyway, we'll draw a line under it. Not mention it again, 'kay?"

"Sounds like a good idea." Lance replied, a faint smile appearing for the amnesty.

"How 'bout we start over? You know, pretend like you've just walked in and we'll both act all professional and shit."

Lance let out a little chuckle and extended a paw. "Sure. I'm Lance, guitar teacher to be, rock star in the making and social pariah. Nice to meet you."

Giving a genuine smile, the mammal took his paw and shook it firmly. "Nice to meet you Lance. Marv Parten. Music store owner, mouthy git and fashion trendsetter."

Lance laughed now with Marv joining him, the tensions evaporating as the cries of joy reverberated off the instruments.

Leaving the shop, Marv called out to the now forty dollars lighter Lance.

"Great doing business with ya Lance! Come again, maybe we can make this a weekly thing?"

"Sure thing Marv, you daft bugger." Lance jovially replied, earning a laugh from him before the door clanged shut.

Readjusting the case strapped to his back, hoping it didn't damage his quills to badly, Lance began to walk back to the stationary store, his mood brightened a little after the initially awkward exchange.

Now just to get those cards and you can head on home and slob out like you intended with the day Lance though, hitching the case again as he re-entered the busy main road of Apolovia.

Smiling at the thought, Lance entered pins 'n' things with renewed vigour. The warthog smiled as he entered and handed him his finished business cards in a little plastic case. Lance even managed a half-genuine smile and thanked the warthog for her help and handed another load of cash.

After briefly dealing with the unhelpful warthog, Lance was now leaning his shoulder against the wall outside pins 'n' things looking at his new business cards. They looked pretty damn professional if he did say so himself. No loud emblems or outrageous designs, just plain white card with a serious looking type face that read:

Mr Morgan's Guitar Lessons

Flexible Work Schedule

Teaches Beginners to Advanced

All ages, sizes and species welcome

Please message for inquiries

And with that Lance had left his email and address below, but decided at the last minute to forgo giving out his phone number. Who can't send emails on their phones? Lance reasoned, as well as the fact he didn't want animals spamming his phone and didn't feel like dealing with a personal and business phone, especially if the amount of animals wanting to skin him alive were true from what Marv had said. It was why it was Mr Morgan as well. No first names. Just business. No drama.

His lips curling in approval at his shrewdness, Lance pushed off the building and span round to head to the bus stop.

Sofa slouching here I – oof!

As he whriled round, Lance clattered into a furry blur, spinning the fuzzy obstacle to the ground while Lance let out a surprised grunt and dropped the card to the ground before the exploded out of their case and fluttered away like dandelion seeds all around him.

The irrational anger that comes free with such unfortunate incidents filled Lance's core, causing him to spin round ready for an argument, to hell with his apparent ill reputation.

"Hey! Watch where the hell you're go…"

Looking at the prone form on the ground, Lance's anger came to an abrupt halt.

Collapsed on the ground was a young raccoon who, even from a rear view, looked as if she had seen better days. She was wearing a long dark green sweater with the common criss-cross pattern, the arms trailing over her paws and looking threadbare and frayed at the edges. Her jeans looked as though they had last been in the washing machine four years ago, if the stains, rips, the fact they finished in the middle of her shin and came with an unnecessarily tight look was anything to go by.

Her scuffed shoes weren't any better. The right one looked as it was barely clinging to life and the left one looked as if it was being held together with a rubber band. Her striped tail looked near entirely black, with the amount of grime and soot clinging to the fur. The rest of her fur looked like it hadn't been groomed or washed in that day, or week. It stuck out in odd places and had a slightly greasy look, as if she had just rubbed herself in fast food.

Seeing this spectacle Lance's concerns about his cards withered and died as, after the initial shock, Lance dropped down to help her up. Taking her sleeved paw, he gently helped her up, the raccoon giving little winces as she did. Setting her up on her unsteady feet, the girl kept her head down, as if afraid to meet Lance's gaze.

"Hey, are you alright?" Lance asked, gently touching her shoulder.

Instinctively recoiling from the touch, the raccoon's face shot up and her eyes met his so quickly and piercingly that Lance couldn't help but be a little shocked.

Her deep, wavering brown eyes looked at him with confusion and a little notion of fear clinging around the irises. Her face went taut and her ears immediately pinned themselves back to her skull. She was like a deer in highlights. Completely frozen, waiting for some inevitable fate to befall her.

"Hey, I'm not going hurt or anything, okay? I just want to know you're alright." Lance said softly, holding his paws up placatively.

The raccoon, gaining some semblance of awareness, the raccoon nervously looked around, taking in the scene.

"Hey, you o -"

Before Lance could even finish his sentence, the raccoon turned tail and started sprinting away as if fleeing a crime scene, bumping into animals as she went, causing jeers of annoyance as she made her escape.

"Hey, wait!" Lance called out, but too late as the surprisingly speedy procyonid zipped around a corner and out of sight, leaving Lance with his arm outstretched in a moment of genuine concern.

Lowering his arm, Lance began collecting his cards that remained strewn on the floor. Fortunately, there hadn't been any wind blowing around and the animals moved round the disturbed area, allowing Lance managed to scavenge most, if not all, of the cards off the concrete.

Popping the last few up into the plastic case after a couple of minutes, Lance noticed something in his periphery. A small brown case. Curious, Lance went over, picking up the light object. It was a wallet; the small pattern-less container was scuffed, with the brand's name worn off from years of continuous use.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Lance opened up the wallet. No cash, but the wallet was packed full of receipts. Snarlbucks, Dragon's Coffee Wagon, Queen Bee Tea. Whoever it is, they sure like caffeine Lance chuckled to himself.

Slipping to the card holders, it was completely barren. No credit cards, debit cards, loyalty cards, membership cards, nothing.

Guess I might as well bin it Lance thought. It's only got rubbish in it so it might as well join the rest.

Looking over to a nearby bin, Lance went to lob the wallet in, already getting the basketball commentary in his head, before a small piece of plastic fell out of one of the tears in the wallet, spinning to the ground.

Picking up the white plastic, Lance turned it over to inspect it. It was a provisional driver's licence with the unemotional face of the raccoon he had just bumped into. She looked better in the photo. Her fur didn't look greasy, her eyes unemotional but unafraid, her ears slightly perked up, there was even a faint hint of a smile. She looked nice. Pretty, even. Much better than she was a few minutes ago.

Looking over the licence, Lance saw her details. There wasn't much to see, a lot of it having scratch marks that obscured most writing. Only one piece remained barely legible and, thank fully, it was the address: 754 Senna Row, Paneris, Anopolis.

Quickly putting the address into maps, the route popped into view. It wasn't too far, about a ten-minute walk or so. Lance shrugged the guitar case to a more comfortable position, his quills beginning to hate the case, before making his way towards the raccoon's home

To say that the quality of housing declined the closer he got to Senna Row was a bit of an understatement. More like it took a nosedive into the fiery pits of Hades.

From the delightful stone and brick buildings of Apolovia, by the time he reached Paneris the stone structures had been replaced with shabby wooden shacks. They were worn and dilapidated, with a pervading smell of rot and damp circulating the entire area that no amount of conscious effort could blot out.

Instead of the hustle and bustle where animals were everywhere and celebratory noise was a constant, unsettling silence hung heavy through this district, only punctuated by the occasional shout or scream in the distance. A few teenage mammals hung around chain link fences, smoking a shared cigarette and giving Lance looks as if they were marking their next hit. Lance avoided their gaze, but kept his eyes steady, puffing his chest out slightly and walking with slight exaggerated confidence. He knew these sorts of places and how to carry himself.

Looking weak and lost was just asking to be called out and possibly beaten up and mugged. Lance had had his fair share of it when he first came to Anopolis. He had learned how to exude confidence and machismo prior to his arrival, but being in areas like this help drive the point home of it being a 24/7 kind of thing, something that helped to make animals think twice about approaching him on the streets, but also somehow managed to help him persuade managers to give him gigs. Well, it used to help.

Sweeping his memories away, Lance's phone finally buzzed that he had reached his destination. Looking up at the house, Lance could see why the raccoon looked the way she did. The place was a dump even by the area's standards.

The roof looked like it was about the cave in at any second, the windows were either smashed or boarded up, the wooden boards looked like it was on the verge of disintegrating. God knows how animals managed to walk on the porch. There were a pile of papers and letters clumped together by the door, as if the postman had given up trying to push them through the letterbox. Weeds were even growing up through the porch and climbing up the building, as they had already taken over the front garden and path.

They're probably the only thing keeping the house standing.

Lance started to wonder whether it was worth going up to the house. There didn't seem to be anyone home, but then again, he doubted that the house had any electricity, or they couldn't afford to pay their bills without a ton of benefits. Suddenly Lance felt lucky that Becky was even giving him a chance to stay in her comparatively luxurious apartment.

I could be in somewhere like this again so easily Lance thought. No Lance, it's not going to happen. You're talented and everyone is going to see it. You'll be living in the lap of luxury and this'll all be just a distant memory.

Emboldened, Lance walked up the porch and knocked on the door.

No response.

Okay, try again.

Still nothing.

Lance knocked a bit louder.

The house or its occupants weren't seeming to be getting the message.

One more try and I go.

With Lance' paw raised, the door cracked open, with a dark brown eye peering out at him, a slice of a face looking out at him.

"Oh erm, hi." Lance started, nervously waving his paw. "Sorry for erm, disturbing you and all that but erm, you er, you dropped this."

Lance pulled the wallet out of his pocket, holding it up to the peeping eye. The eye, widening slightly, before darting between the wallet and its temporary keeper, slowly shut the door. Hearing a rustle and clunks of a chains, bolts and locks, the raccoon finally came out, leaving the door ever so slightly ajar behind her.

She had cleaned up a little, her fur looking a bit more groomed with most of the sticking out parts having been addressed, but her fur still retained that slightly oily look and her clothes were unchanged.

Standing there, her head kept down, she plucked at her green sleeves in embarrassment, her paws still hidden within them. She stood in complete deference to Lance, her body language fragile but compliant, as if she were clay for his to mould. It slightly unnerved Lance. He was here to return a lost item and she was looking as if he was about to march her down to police station.

"Sorry, I had to go through to find out it was yours." Lance began, incredibly uncomfortable with her demeanour, holding the wallet out for her.

Her had remaining hung, her paw finally raised up and emerged from its green cocoon. She gently grasped it and, in controlled movements, brought into both her paws, her eyes impassively looking it over.

"I think er, everything there. I checked all around to see if anything fell out but I think it's all there." As little as that is Lance noted.

Autumn remained silent, but nodded slightly, as if taking Lance's word for it. A few awkward seconds of silence passed with Lance uncertain how to leave.

Should I wait for her to say something? She doesn't look while she's about to say anything. Maybe I should just go. But won't that seem rude? Wait, why am I thinking all this over? I did the good deed. Well done Lance. Now just get out of here.

"Erm, look so er, I just wanted to bring this back to you and er, make sure you were, you know, alright and everything. You took quite a tumble back there and I thought you'd hurt yourself. I may not be, you know, everyone's favourite guy right now but I'm er, you know, I'm glad that you're er, well…" Lance rambled, waving his paws as if to finish his eloquent speech.

She was looking up at him now, her eyes a mixture of confusion and something Lance couldn't quite put his paw on. Resentment for his pity? Trepidation for this weird bumbling mammal? Curiosity for… the same reason? Lance wasn't sure but by the look of her, he had probably outstayed his welcome.

"So er, since I can see you're erm, fine and all that I'll just get going. Don't want to, you know, keep you longer than you need. So er, I'll be seeing you then." Lance mumbled, starting to back away his mind kicking himself for his awkwardness.

"You like music?"

The question had come out so quietly that had Lance turned his head ever so slightly further away he may never have heard it.

Her voice was wispy and fragile, as if it could be shattered forever if it dared go up a single octave more. It was weak and shaky, as if she was completely unpractised at the art of merely speaking.

Looking back, she saw that the racoon's arm was outstretched, pointing at the guitar case, previously obscured by his quills.

"Oh erm, yeah. I like music." Lance said. "D'you erm, d'you like music?"

The racoon nodded, her face still not looking up at him.

"Oh erm, what d'you like?" Lance asked, unsure whether he'd get an answer and as to the point of asking anyway.

The raccoon seemed to take a moment to think about it, before shrugging noncommittally.

"Come on" Lance began, growing a little more confident. "You must like something. R&B? Jazz? Blues? Soul? Punk? Pop? Rock?"

Again, the raccoon seemed to process the question, shifting her feet a little as she thought about it.

"I… I like… most things."

Lance nodded. Better than nothing at all I guess. Silence fell between them once again, the raccoon clearly looking a bit awkward about having spoken so much with Lance still looking for an out of this stilted conversation.

"Look erm, I'm glad you're alright and all and erm, hold on."

Lance rummaged in his pockets before pulling out the card container, quickly opening it up and held it out to the girl. She looked at it quizzically, before taking it in her free paw, reading over the text.

"I teach guitar. Just started actually so, you know, if you wanna place some of those 'most thing' then er, drop me a line sometime, 'kay?" Lance said, once again moving away down the porch steps.

"I don't have email." the racoon called out, her voice straining a little.

"Sorry what?" Lance replied, turning back, his escape thwarted once more.

"I don't have email." she repeats, a little quieter and more comfortable.

"Oh." That's all Lance could think to say. Who the hell doesn't have email?

"Like at all or?"

She shook her head.

"Not even on your phone?"

The raccoon let out a soft snort, shaking her head before fishing around in her tattered jeans pocket. Sliding it out, she revealed a dark blue brick phone with a tiny scratched screen and massive buttons. It looked as if it had been handed down, thrown about, dropped down the loo, and hit several times with a blunt object before it managed to get into her paws.

Jesus, I didn't think animals still had those Lance though. Well, there goes my no phone number idea. Shit, I'll have to fork out for new cards!

"Oh, right. Erm, well I guess I could give you my number."

Lance pulled out his phone and read out the number as the raccoon slowly put it into her phone, holding the phone's dull screen to Lance to make sure she had it right.

"Yeah, that's it. Just give me a ring if you want to have a go or whatever."

The raccoon nodded, a bit more certain in her movements.

"How much is it?" came her voice again, with a slightly serious tone.

"Oh erm…" Lance began, but then he looked at the raccoon. He looked at her face. Her clothes. Her house behind her. Truth be told, he was thinking about 30 dollars a session, that way he could rack up some good cash if he got a few students. But looking at her, how empty her wallet was, how run down her house was, Lance did something that a few months ago he would never conceive of doing.

"Er, the first session's free then it'll be like 10 dollars or something." Lance tilted his head down, a little embarrassed at giving what he felt was a handout to her. "Does… does that sound alright?"

Looking up briefly, Lance saw a sudden flicker of light appeared in her eyes. It was brief, but it was there. A moment that took her out of her continuously sad complexion. Lance grinned a little. Wait, why am I happy? I just knocked down the price stupidly! What the hell am I gonna –

"That sounds good."

Raising his head up again, Lance thought he spied a smile. It was faint, barely registering at all, but it was there. A tiny smile and her face brightening up a bit. She looked like a different mammal for a moment, albeit a fleeting one.

"Cool" Lance mumbled, attempting to shake himself of his stray thoughts and making his way to the porch steps once more. "Well, I'll see you later then."

"I wasn't trying anything."

Lance paused. The tone coming from the raccoon was harder this time, as if trying to defend herself. Even her body language become stiffer, m ore determined.

"What d'you mean?" Lance asked, slightly puzzled.

"I wasn't trying anything before."

What's she on about? Lance couldn't help thinking, the confusion spreading to his voice.

"Try what?"

The second denial seemed to flummox the raccoon. She looked at him now, her deep brown eyes staring at him as if he were some exotic, almost alien, curio.

Lance was befuddled too. What on earth is she going on about? Trying something? The hell could she try to do? There's nothing of her.

"I er, you know," she started, uncertainty at her own words becoming evident. "When I bumped into you. Back there. I wasn't, you know, trying anything… sketchy." she trailed off, seeming to need a minute after speaking so much.

"Erm, yeah sure" Lance agreed, still not understanding. "Whatever, but seriously, there's nothing to apologise for." Lance said with a shrug of his shoulders.

The raccoon smiled for a brief second, before diving her paw into her jeans pocket and prising some green notes out of it, proffering it to the porcupine.

"Erm, what's this?" Lance asked, the situation getting more confusing by the second.

Stepping forward, she shoved something into his paw. Opening it up, it revealed some crumpled notes. There wasn't a lot there, maybe eight dollars and a barely twenty cents change.

"For the wallet. Sorry it's not much." She mumbled, before walking away, leaving Lance a little shocked.

Without even thinking, Lance grabbed the raccoon's green sleeve halting her in her place, a look of fear coming into her eyes.

"I don't know who or what you think I am but I am not taking this." Lance stated flatly.

Thinking on it, it probably wasn't the smartest thing to do as the raccoon was staring at his paw, still gripping the faded green fivers of her jumper. Lance quickly realised what this was starting to look like and quickly released her.

"Sorry, it's just I can't take this."

"You have to." She responded matter of factly.

"For what? Returning your wallet? I'm not taking it." Lance scoffed.

Her eyes narrowed, a grim look coming into the pupils.

"I have to pay you back." She said in a measured tone, her eyes finally meeting his. They were cold, demanding, yet somehow also pleading with him to let her pay him back.

Looking back down at his paw, the notes still scrunched up Lance couldn't help but feel torn. He did need the money, even with Becky as a lifeline she wasn't going to keep giving him handouts whenever he needed it. That was the whole point of getting a job. But, this was her money. Probably all the money she had. She needed it more. And yet here she was, handing it all over to pay some self-created debt? He couldn't just give her the money back. It'd be insulting. She was trying to do right and for him to spurn her money was essentially saying, I don't need your money. Not from you and where you're from. Lance sighed.

I'm probably going to regret this…

"Alright, I'll take… a dollar" Lance began.

Her mouth jolted open in protest, but Lance managed to hump in before she could give voice to it.

"Wait a sec! I'm going to take a dollar. I probably need it to make up my bus fare. I don't need any more than that so you're actually really helping me here. But seriously, you don't need to reward me for bringing you your wallet. I'm just honestly glad you're alright after the tumble you took. You really smashed into the floor."

"That's not enough" Autumn sighed. "I need to pay the debt."

Lance repressed a groan. Seriously, what do I have to do to get this bloody raccoon to call it quits!

"Okay, how about this. You know those guitar lessons? You have to go to them now." Lance said, determined to finish the issue once and for all.

"You can do four sessions okay? That's 40 dollars. You'll have paid me back and then some, though I still have no idea what exactly you're paying me back for. So that's four sessions plus the freebie. Five sessions in all. Sound good?"

A pause. Lance looked into her eyes, trying to as serious with her as possible. Her eyes slightly twitching as she thought it over, she let out a sigh.

"That, that sounds… fair."

"Finally!" Lance breathily exhaled, before taking one dollar his paw and handing back the rest.

"So…we good now?"

The raccoon looked at the money before pocketing it and nodding.

"Great. Now, when d'you want me to come down here for our first lesson?"

The raccoon cocked her head in confusion, ear titing to the side as she did so.

Huh, that's kinda cute Lance thought, internally chucking at her bemused face.

"You know, to do the lessons?" Lance said, slightly patronisingly. "When are you free? I can get down here in about forty minutes from mine so –"

"You can't do it here!" The panic was apparent in her voice, taking Lance a bit by surprise.

"I er," she backpedalled, the cogs of her mind clearly showing on her face "I mean er, my dad, he works from home so er, it wouldn't be… I don't want to erm, er, disturb him."

Sure, works from home. I believe that. Lance thought, believing it about as much as he believed in the hairless ape conspiracy. Yet, with her reaction, Lance doubted he'd change her mind. Plus he didn't really fancy coming back here again if he could avoid it.

"Alright then. Wouldn't want to disturb the hardworking father now, would we?"

"No, no… we wouldn't." Autumn said sullenly, rubbing her arm slightly.

"Do you er, have somewhere we could do this? Your place or something?"

"My place?" Lance said, rubbing his chin.

What the hell would Becky say, bringing unknown animals to her, our, flat? Well, it would only be one animal and she seems harmless enough. Needs a wash but harmless. I think I can smooth this over. Besides, a pupil on day one? Yeah, I bet I can swing this. Say it's only for this one. Bet I can think of a reason. The others I'll go to their houses. Yeah, I bet I can swing this.

"Yeah, sure" Lance finally replied. "Just got to make sure it's okay with my girlfriend first but should be. I'll text you when I know. Oh er, send me a text so I've got your number."

"Okay" came the slightly warm reply, before she took out her phone and rapidly text a message for Lance.

A couple of seconds passed before the familiar text tone rang out on Lance's phone. Pulling it out of his pocket, he gave a cursory glance at the message not bothering to read the message.

"Yeah, just got it. I'll let you know as soon as I know, okay?" Lance said, pocketing the phone again and readjusting the bag once again, with it becoming quite uncomfortable on his quills.

"Mm-hmm." She nodded before noise came from inside the house.

"Er, that'll be er, my dad. I gotta go." The raccoon said, before quietly walking back into her house.

"Bye then." Lance replied, before turning away from the tumbledown house and quickly making his way through the rough estate, his mind no longer focused on his surroundings. Indeed, he didn't begin to recognise where he was until he had made it back to Apolovia and was sitting on the bus heading back home.

Well, at least it's a start. Lance's mind began. Cheap start but it's a start. Can't do that with everyone Lance. You're not a charity case. You need their money. That's all. You're not out to help every poor animal you see. You're here to make money, get gigs, get successful, be a rock star. You and no-one else. You don't need anybody else. You are all you need. Everyone else is just stopping you from being famous. Everyone else is belittling your talent. Talent that no-one else has. Stop being such a sap and get on with what you're meant to be doing.

By the end of the bus journey, Lance was feeling a bit annoyed with himself. Feeling his phone in his jeans pocket, he mulled over whether he should just cancel her sessions. Sure, it would be a student lost, but if she couldn't stump up the full fee then what was the point of her coming? He needed to make money and the time he'd be teaching her, he could be teaching someone else for treble the price, not to mention the free session where he'd make diddly squat!

With his mind made up, he grabbed his phone, ready to call it all off.

Clicking the circle button, the phone flashed to life, with a short message popping up in a little white box.

Thank you, Mr Morgan. For being nice. I look forward to the lessons. Autumn Larkin

Staring at the message, Lance couldn't hold back a smile.

Me? Nice? Does she not know who I am? Heartbreaker extraordinaire? Public Enemy Number 1? Wait, Mr Morgan? Doesn't she know me? Wait, maybe she doesn't. I didn't say my 's not on the cards. She says she doesn't have email, hell she may not have internet if she doesn't have email. She, she really may not know who I am. Maybe the only animal in Anopolis not to know. And she said I was nice…

Lance mulled over that. No-one had called him nice in a while, let alone say he had made someone's day. Not even Becky. Thinking back, Ash was probably the last one to say anything like that to him, but that was years ago when their relationship was still young and untainted by Ash's constant attempts to upstage him and ruin his shows.

Looking back at his phone, he re-read the message. Autumn Larkin, huh? That's a nice name he thought, a little smile creeping on his face. Lance quickly saved her in his contacts. His smiled remained on his face, his mind drifting back to the nice comment, leaving him surprisingly content for the rest of the journey.

The bus reaching his stop, Lance stepped off with the smile still plastered on his face. Finally getting back into the apartment, Lance dumped the guitar in the corner and adjusting his quills, vowing to carry the guitar in his paw from now on.

He had a quick look over the room and, as if realising it for the first time, saw how much of a mess it was.

God, have I been living like this? Lance thought. Lance checked his phone for the time. Quarter past three. Still got time Lance thought. In an inexplicably good mood for the first time in a while, Lance headed out the door.

A few hours later, Becky returned home, expecting to see Lance still glued to the sofa with crumbs all around him and maybe a half empty lukewarm pizza left out for her as had become the norm over the last few months. What she wasn't expecting was the sweet aroma of the food being cooked.

Instead of being implanted into the settee, Lance was in the kitchen cooking. With the cooker. With actual food. And spices. Spices! To say that Becky was agog was understatement. Her jaw had near enough dropped to the floor, nearly joining her handbag which fell to the fall, the contents scattering across the floor.

"Oh, hey Becky!" Lance said cheerily, before coming over and giving her a sweet peck on the check before moving back over to monitor the stir fry he was in the middle of cooking.

"You're… you're cooking?" Becky said, her gaze barely moving away from the weird apparition in front of her.

"Yep! Making Synth Chicken Stir Fry! Must admit, never really thought about getting synth meat. Just always seemed a bit wrong and veggies are just so good! But I was getting some shopping earlier and this butcher guy said I should give it a go. Totally fine for herbivores and not to listen to the scary stories. So I thought, why the hell why not? Don't knock it before you try it, or at least that's what the guy said."

Becky stood there, trying to take everything in. Lance was in a good mood. He was in the kitchen not for snacks or alcohol. He seemed sober, at least she couldn't smell the usual Glenfiddich or Johnnie Walker Red on him. He was smiling. Smiling! So Becky did the only thing she could.

"But you're…you're cooking?" Becky repeated.

"Yeah, kind of missed it actually. Should do it more often. Got started pretty much after I hoovered and everything."

"You vacuumed?!" Becky's mind was awhirl with all the possibilities of what had happened to Lance between leaving this morning and coming home. Body snatcher? Aliens? That stupid she made on a start last month coming true? All the while the oblivious Lance kept cooking, adding homemade sauce to the delicious smelling Chinese concoction.

"Hey, this nearly done so d'you wanna get out your work clothes? I'll plate up in a sec." Lance smiled, happily finishing off the meal.

Still in a state of shock, Becky went off to the bedroom and automatically changed out of her work clothes and got into something more comfortable. Sitting at the table, a glass of wine already poured for her, Becky looked over the meal that Lance plated up for her. It looked delicious. The smell was intoxicating. She stabbed one of the synth chicken pieces and quickly popping it in her mouth. It was gorgeous. Tasting the wine. A perfect match for the meal.

Sitting down, Lance started on his own meal before looking up at the still stunned Becky.

"So how was your day?" Lance asked in between mouthfuls.

Boyfriend asking about her day? Perfect. This is what she'd been yearning for for what felt like an age. Finally, everything was seeming right in their relationship.

And it all felt so, so wrong.

"Okay, what the hell is going on Lance?!" Becky roared, the damn finally bursting, unable to contain herself any longer.

Lance looked up, a bit in shock at the sudden rage.

"What d'you mean babe?"

"Babe? BABE! I'll give you babe minute!" Becky screamed, standing on the breakfast table's high stool.

"Whoa! Calm down, what have I done Becky?" Lance asked, confusion filling up in his eyes.

"Exactly! What have you done Lance? I leave this morning and you look like something that's been scraped off the bottom of truck on the freeway and I come back home and you're playing Mr Perfect Boyfriend! The hell happened Lance! You win some money? Got a record contract? Having an affair?"

"No, I have not!" Lance interrupted, feeling this was going too far into sensitive territory.

"Oh my God you are having an affair!" Becky wailed, jumping off the stool and backing away from him.

"What?!" Lance cried incredulously. "The hell d'you get that from?"

"You only denied that one so it must be what you're doing!" Becky yelled, starting to get a bit hysterical.

"Okay, back up here! I have not, nor will ever again, cheat on anyone! I've done that once and it wasn't pretty. Hell, we didn't even kiss!"

"You went to kiss her?!"

"I'm talking about you ya dingbat! D'you not remember the whole us getting kicked out my apartment when Ash turned up?" Lance shot back, getting a bit heated now at the unfounded insinuations.

"Then what then?! What's this all about?! 'Cos if you don't tell me the truth right now then so help me God -"

"I GOT A JOB BECKY! HAPPY? I GOT A FREAKING JOB!" Lance yelled, his voice rumbling out of him like an almighty thunderstorm.

Becky's face was a picture. It was if all the anger got gut punched out of her. Her trembling fury was replaced by a still incomprehension.

"You… you what?" Becky managed to say.

"I got a job okay? I… I took your advice and looked for work." Lance said, forcing calmness into his voice.

They remained silent for a while, letting the tension in the air hang for a moment, the heat of the argument leaving both Lance and Becky breathing heavily, as if they had been out for a marathon.

As if instinctual, both Lance and Becky made their way to the sofa, sitting at opposite ends, not quite ready to be close just yet after such explosions of anger.

"So" Becky began, trying to keep a conciliatory tone "what job is it then?"

"I'm er, gonna be a private music teacher. A tutor really." Lance said quietly, keeping his head down, not daring to look at Becky directly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a new card he put there in preparation of his big reveal.

Becky looked it over. It was the same as the previous one but now with a phone number she did not recognise.

"I got a cheap pay as you go phone." Lance commented, seeing her confusion. "Just for business. Only does texts and calls. Everything else will go to my emails which I'll still have on my normal phone."

Lance pulled out his new, well new to him, work phone. It was an older model but looked in good nick. It wasn't a touch screen or anything but it looked like it could so the basics.

"I'm gonna start handing these cards out tomorrow. Put them anywhere that'll take them. Hopefully they'll be okay with a Mr Morgan teaching them than the infamous Lance."

Becky tapped the card against her paw, as if considering something. Lance glanced up to her face. She seemed to be contemplating what he was saying. The anger had gone now, she was just thinking. Going over what he was saying over in her mind.

At least she's hearing me out Lance thought hopefully.

"So how much are you charging for this then?" Becky stated, her voice coming over more in a business manner now.

That was the one thing about Becky he kind of admired. Though she looked ditzy and fashion obsessed, and okay sometimes she was, but she had a good business mind. She could see whether something was viable or not and it helped Lance get more lucrative gigs before Ashgate happened.

"I thought about charging 30 bucks for adults, 20 for kids and give a half price first session, you know, to get animals interested. Plus I'll be going to their houses so I'll need that much to make it worth going out on public transport."

"Hmm." Becky was processing the maths in her head. "You'll need to get a season pass. For both bus and rail. Otherwise you'll be barely breaking even. It's a bit of an investment but it'll be better in the long run."

"Yeah, I know, I'm going to go down there tomorrow and – wait, you think this is a good idea?!"

Becky shrugged. "I mean, it's gonna be a lot of work and it's not going to be profitable at first but I can see this working. Not every animal knows who you are and some don't give a damn. I can see you getting a few students and, in a few months or so, I can see you making some decent money." Becky summed up in a matter of fact manner. "I mean, nothing compared to me obviously, but still decent money." Becky teased.

Lance couldn't believe it. Becky thought it was good idea. Granted the big reveal hadn't gone the way he wanted, but she thought it was good idea. Lance quickly closed the gap between them and pulled a slightly surprised Becky in for an unexpected hug.

"Thank you, Becky. This means a lot actually. I really think I can make this work. And then who knows? I might be able to get back into the gigging game and finally make it big." Lance waffled.

"Okay, one step at a time rock star." Becky jokingly chided, returning the hug. "You've got to get this off the ground first and pay me back your share of the rent first."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Don't worry, I'll get it all square between us soon. I promise!" Lance chimed in as they separated from the hug.

"Yeah, you better had!" Becky said, playfully punching his shoulder.

A small silence fell over them, the previous tension having dissipated and a mildly happier atmosphere returning to the flat.

"So, dinner smells nice" Becky said, nodding her head towards the table.

"Oh shit! It'll be getting cold!" Lance said, jumping up from the sofa and hurrying over to the table. Becky rolled her eyes and followed him at a much more relaxed pace.

Lance was pleased with himself. It had been a while since he'd cooked but it turned out alright. Becky even asked for second helpings. Riding his high, Becky was snuggled against Lance as they were watching The Devil Wears Prada. It was a film Becky loved and Lance outwardly loathed but, on the inside, had become secretly fond of the film, cheesiness and all.

With Becky leaned up against him, starting to drift off to sleep, Lance started to feel good. He may not love her, but he was still fond of her. She was sweet, kind, although with a bit of steel about her, and for all his faults, still wanted Lance to do well. Their relationship may not have started well, or been the most truthful for Lance, but treating it like an intimate platonic friendship seemed to work for them. They were comfortable. Content. Satisfied.

Then Lance remembered.

"Hey Becky?"

"Hmm?" Becky hummed, her eyelids slightly drooping.

"I forgot to tell you something."

"What is it babe?" Becky cooed sleepily, looking up at him from his shoulder.

"Well it's just erm, I got a student today."

"Oh, that's great honey" Becky yawned. "When's he start?"

Lance stiffened up a little, fortunately not noticed by the near dozing Becky.

He? Should I tell Becky Autumn's a girl? She wouldn't be jealous or something, would she? Then again, she did erupt like a volcano when I cooked tea, God knows what she'll do if my first student is a girl and wants to come to the apartment. I'll just keep it quiet for now. Once she starts paying, I'm sure Becky will see sense. Yeah, I see no problem with that.

"Erm, yeah that's the thing" Lance started, the half-truths forming in his head. "You see he's not exactly got somewhere to do the lessons with me."

"What, is he homeless?" Becky joked.

"No, nothing like that, it's just he shares his house with someone and he doesn't want to disturb them."

Well that's mostly true. Lance thought.

"So, what are you going to do then? Teach in the park or something?"

"Well" Lance hesitated "I was wondering, if it's okay with you that is, if we could erm, do the lessons… here."

Becky remained silent for a moment, the tension suddenly spiking within Lance.

Shit, did I fuck up? Is that a step too far? I didn't want to ruin this night for her. What's she gonna-

"Sounds fine to me."

"Sorry what?" Lance responded, the disbelief apparent in his voice.

"I said it's fine ya doofus" Becky replied gently, and awkwardly, swatting him with a free paw. "So long as you do it while I'm work or something then I'm okay with it. Just don't make a mess or anything. Don't want to clear up after two slobs rather than one."

Lance breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay, will do Becky."

"And no electric guitars. Don't want the neighbours to complain. Again."

"Sure thing, mom" Lance mocked in an exaggerated voice.

Becky laughed. "Don't sass your mother. Now off to bed with you. It's a school night, don't cha know?"

"But I don't wanna go to school." Lance moaned, crossing his arms like a petulant child, getting into the silliness.

"Ok, that's enough." Becky said finishing the silliness a bit abruptly.

"Oh, okay." Lance replied.

That was something that he did miss. A bit of silliness. He and Ash had that sometimes, times where they could just goof around and make each other laugh. Well, before she started trying to upstage him, then the sun stopped. Sure, a brief second or so, but it always got cut off before it could fully develop. It felt so frustrating.

And with the fun ended, they both went to bed, quietly going to sleep without much talking between them.

It was about four in the morning when Lance woke up, his mind unusually active for that time of night. He might be a nocturnal mammal by nature but evolution and societal expectations had left them as a diurnal and so Lance was definitely not a late night/early morning kind of guy.

Grabbing himself a glass of water, Lance sat on the couch drinking the cool contents, hoping that would lull him back to sleep.

Looking down at the coffee table in front of him, Lance saw that he had left his phone lying there before heading to bed. Picking it up, Lance turned it on.

Maybe I can skim read something. Reading's supposed to help you sleep, right?

After being initially blinded by his phone, Lance quickly turned down the brightness, before skim reading a few articles, not really taking in the content.

After reading another article bemoaning some hot political issue, something that Lance didn't pay much attention to since he never really understood why the animals here we're having arguments of basic stuff, he quickly flicked away the app for another restless night.

Just as he was about to hit the sleep button, Lance eyes drifted over to the text messages.

Wasn't I meant to text someone? Lance thought, the sleep starting to hit him now before realisation hit him like a lightning bolt.

Crap! Autumn!

Opening the app, Lance tapped on Autumn's name and hurriedly drafted a quick message. Reading it once over, Lance hit the send button.

Looking at the message in the green bubble, Lance hope he hadn't disturbed Autumn's sleep. It simply read:

Hey Autumn. Sorry for the late message but it's all sorted. The lessons I mean. Is sometime in the day okay? Message me back when you're free so we can get this sorted

The smiley face immediately bothered Lance.

Was that too much? I mean, I'm meant to be the teacher. Do teacher send smiley face messages to their students? Probably not. Well she's not a student yet but still, don't think I should have done it. Not exactly the most professional thing to do. But then again messaging someone at quarter to five isn't exactly screaming great teacher or anything.

His phone suddenly let out a ping that, in the quiet of the dim apartment, sounded more like a chime gigantic bell being struck right next to Lance's ear.

Lance, recovering from the shock of the piercing note, looked back down at his phone.

It was Autumn.

I'm free Wednesday about 3ish. Is that ok?

Bloody hell Lance thought. That was quick. I must have woken her up but still.

Lance quickly typed out a reply.

Sure. I'll see you next Wednesday then.

Almost instantaneously the phone ping again, Lance now muffling the phone and switching it to silent.

See you then

Lance smiled as he turned the phone off and pushed himself off the sofa. Everything was in place. Cards to distribute. A new, sort of, guitar. Business phone. Brand new start.

Lance quietly crept into the bedroom, Becky gently sleeping on her side, her chest softly rising with each breath. Lance chuckled. She sure does look cute when she sleeps, I'll give her that.

Putting his phone on charge, resting it on the bedside table, Lance looked over in the corner of the room. Piled high with his boxes rested the banged-up guitar he bought at Marv's and, resting next to it lay another, bursting with light in its centre, with a subdued darkness round its edges.

Lance went and knelt by it, gently stroking its well-kept body, gently touching the strings, so not to incur too much noise and awaken Becky.

It felt the same as it did back then. Back in those days. A sad smile lingered on his face before Lance pulled himself away.

Climbing back into bed, Lance finally felt the sweet embrace of peaceful unconsciousness push his eyelids down, the two guitars watching over his sleep, trying to claw into his dreams.

#autumn larkin

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