no longer in solitude
Porter's first impression of Sonny, the new pet.
a little something from Port's POV this time (and by "a little something" I mean 2000 words). this is the night Sonny is brought to his new home.
consider this a sort-of prequel to this.
solitaire masterlist
content: BBU/pet whump, abusive master, whumpee emotionally attached to whumper
All day, the house was silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer. It made Port a little twitchy. It seemed quieter than usual today, quiet enough that the florescent lights buzzing in his ears were making him sick. He had to step out of the bathroom halfway through cleaning the shower, scrubbing brush abandoned by the drain. He rinsed his hands and pressed his cool, clean palms to his eyes. Memories of lying alone in that cold, featureless room in the facility flashed behind his eyelids.
He tried to think of something else, his master coming to mind easily. He had left for work that morning without a word to Port, just as he had the past two days. Mr. Oz hadn’t been speaking to him lately. In fact, he’d barely even looked at him.
Maybe something at work was bothering him. Did his boss yell at him? Could it be that the coworker he always complained about was getting on his nerves? Maybe it was unrelated to work; maybe he had lost more money at the casino. The last time that had happened, Mr. Oz lost two grand playing blackjack or poker or whatever it was and when he came home he threw one of his shoes at Port’s head. Port dodged it on instinct, which just made him angrier. Though come to think of it, Port hadn’t had any projectiles thrown at him, lately, so maybe it wasn’t that.
The grandfather clock started chiming, shaking Port out of his uneasy thoughts. He took a grounding breath and reentered the bathroom.
After the bathroom was the living room. He pulled the remote out from between the couch cushions, itching to turn the TV on for some background noise. He set the remote in its proper place on the glass coffee table, next to a box of playing cards. He didn’t have permission to watch TV today.
Lately Mr. Oz had been getting home around 7:00, so Port started dinner at 6:30. Talking to him over dinner was usually the most exciting part of Port’s day, but the two previous nights he had taken his dinner up to his room, leaving Port to clean up in silence. He hoped today would be better.
Dinner was finished by 6:55. He left it on the stove on low heat. When Mr. Oz still wasn’t home by 7:20, Port put it in the fridge. He had already cleaned the the bedrooms, the bathrooms, the living room, the kitchen, even under the fridge, under the oven, and the tops of the doorways. He supposed the bookshelf could do with some dusting.
When Mr. Oz still wasn’t home by 9:00 and Port had truly run out of productive things to do, he grabbed the playing cards from the coffee table and kneeled on the Persian carpet, arranging them for a game of solitaire. Mr. Oz had never explicitly forbid him from playing card games, so Port figured it was okay as long as he put everything away before he got back.
By the time the clock chimed for the second time since he’d started playing, marking 11 o’ clock, Port was starting to get concerned. It wasn’t uncommon for his master to stay out after work, but 11:00 P.M. was far later than usual, especially on a Thursday night.
Port had been in the living room for hours, having long since adjusted to a more comfortable sitting position. His current game was not going well. Stuck, Port listened to the ticking clock while he tried to figure out how to salvage it. It was hard to think when his eyes were drifting closed. He had gotten up at 5 A.M. that morning, like usual, and he wasn’t allowed to sleep until his master turned in for the night.
Port gave up on the game and rested his elbows on the coffee table, shifting the cards underneath his arms. He stared at the blinking colon of the digital clock under the TV, willing himself to stay awake. He should probably get up and move around, but the combination of the blinking and the ticking had a hypnotizing effect.
Just as the clock blinked to 11:08, he heard the garage door screech open and jerked awake. Port hastily gathered the cards into a stack and slid them into their box. He rose to his feet and padded to the side door to greet his master, where he waited eagerly, a smile already on his face.
The door swung open and Mr. Oz stepped through into the yellow light of the hall. His cheeks were ruddy, teeth visible in a grin. Port found it encouraging.
“Welcome home,” Port greeted. “How was your—”
Port was startled as another figure appeared out of the darkness in the doorway behind him. His first split-second thought was that it was one of his master’s friends, as it wasn’t unusual for him to invite people over. The thought was dashed as soon as he spotted the supple black collar around the figure’s neck.
It was a boy— a young man— who stepped into the hall, eyes cast down. Port couldn’t see his features too well at this angle— only his shining black hair, which was neatly parted down the middle of his scalp.
Port realized his mouth was still open and shut it. Once he pulled his eyes away from the pet he noticed that Mr. Oz was looking at him, eyes glimmering. “Porter, this is Sonny.” He clapped the boy on the back, who visibly jumped. (A sign of poor training.) “He’ll be helping you out around the house.”
Every question running through Port’s mind was cut short. Was he saying what Port thought he was saying? “Sir, do you mean…?”
“That’s right! You get to have a little playmate, doesn’t that sound great?”
Port blinked.
Mr. Oz was looking at the pet with some sort of fondness. “I’ve had my eye on him for a while now… you should’ve seen the look on David’s face.” His hand moved to the pet's neck, whose shoulders raised higher. “I’m gonna get him a collar like yours,” Mr. Oz said, hooking a finger under the nylon. “So you can match.”
Some buzzing feeling was spreading through Port. His chest was shivering. He felt his smile grow wider. He clasped his hands in front of him and squeezed. “This is great, sir.”
Mr. Oz smiled back at him. It felt good to be on the same page as his master, to be excited with him. Port was already imagining what it would be like to have another presence in the house. Someone to help with housework, to get to know, to talk with like an an equal. A small spike of guilt struck him at the thought. His master was supposed to fulfill all his needs. He shouldn’t be craving the company of another pet, of all things. And yet…
Mr. Oz grabbed Sonny roughly by the shoulders and pushed him closer to Port, made them stand shoulder-to-shoulder. Sonny had to be at least half a foot shorter than him.
He watched Mr. Oz admire them both, mind working. His hand shot out to Sonny’s face so fast that Sonny jerked back and Port nearly flinched. Mr. Oz gripped him by the face, dimpling his cheek with his thumb as he tilted his head upwards. “Look at me,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll have you…” He trailed off, eyes growing dark. “What’s with that face?”
Port glanced down to gauge for himself. On Sonny’s face was an unmistakable expression: fear.
“Are you scared?” asked their master. He was no longer smiling.
Sonny said nothing. Port’s heart beat fast for him. Mr. Oz did not like to go unanswered.
“Well?”
Sonny hesitated too long. Mr. Oz released Sonny’s face only to crack his hand across it like a whip. Sonny nearly collided into Port’s shoulder, hand raising as if to cradle his rapidly flushing cheek. Port felt a rising sense of alarm. Where was this boy trained?
Mr. Oz’s hand grasped Sonny’s wrist, halting it in place. “Please, sir—“ Sonny finally spoke.
“Who taught you to act like this?” He was yelling, now. “Were you disciplined at all?”
Port couldn’t help himself. “Sir, he’s just—”
His master whirled on him. “I don’t wanna hear a single word outta you!”
Port’s jaw clicked shut.
He turned back to Sonny, who was lowering towards the floor like his knees were buckling. Mr. Oz released Sonny’s wrist and ran both hands through his short hair, something he always did when he was exasperated. “Way to ruin my damn mood.” He rubbed his eyes, and when his fists fell he locked eyes with Port. They were slightly red. “Take him to your room,” he said. “Explain the rules.” His gaze drifted to Sonny, who now had his arms wrapped around himself. Mr. Oz sighed, pinching his brow. “If he doesn’t fix his behavior… we’re gonna have some problems.” Port felt Sonny curl further into himself beside him.
“Yes, sir.” Port wasted no time in guiding Sonny upstairs with a gentle hand on his upper back. He pushed open the door to his room— their room, now. There wasn’t much. A dresser, a blanket, a pillow, the soft rug he slept on. A painting of a seagull hung on the far wall. Port would have to grab another pillow and blanket for Sonny from the linen closet— that is, if Mr. Oz didn’t decide to revoke his bedding privileges for that little display.
Now that they were out of earshot, Port felt comfortable enough to speak. He needed to give Sonny the rundown on how things worked around here. But first… “Are you alright?”
Sonny lifted his head, looking directly at Port for the first time. His eyes were so dark Port couldn’t see the pupils. They shone like black pearls, wet. His cheeks were dry, the left still colored from the slap, but his face was otherwise unblemished. He looked young. His mouth made no movement.
“You can speak, right?”
Sonny’s gaze lowered. “Sorry,” he whispered. “This is a lot.”
Port sighed, feeling a pang of sympathy. The boy didn’t seem very experienced. “It’s okay,” he said. “Let’s sit down.”
Sonny wasted no time in dropping to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. Port went to his knees in front of him, but after a few seconds decided to readjust and sit on his bottom to be more casual. He gave Sonny a minute of silence to calm down before speaking again.
“I don’t know what that was, but—” you shouldn’t be so scared? I hope you’re okay? You can’t do that again? “—he isn’t as bad as you seem to think he is.”
Sonny looked at him again, now reproachfully. Port tried a smile. “Are you new?”
His eyes turned sharp, flicking up and down Port’s figure. “Six months outta training,” he muttered. Secondhand? Sonny seemed to be considering him. “You’re not new.”
“No.”
“You’re W.R.U.?” Dubya-arr-yoo.
“…Yes.” Technically.
Sonny hummed, lowering his chin. “You kinda seem like it.”
Port wasn’t sure how to feel about that, or what could have possibly given him that impression, so he just asked, “Where are you from, if not W.R.U.?” Port knew of at least two knock-offs. “I didn’t even know Mr. Oz was looking for another pet.”
Sonny just sighed and lowered his head further so his forehead touched the tops of his knees, face hidden.
Well, alright. Considering they were equals, Port supposed Sonny wasn’t obligated to answer him.
