“I didn’t sign up for this,” Michael said, mostly to himself as he picked up another box. 

Michael’s belongings had diminished significantly since the divorce. One lawyer he’d deliberated hiring had said that many men getting divorced would rather go out in the woods and live in a tent than stay another day with their partner. 

That didn’t seem to be the case with Bill. His divorce was much older than Michael’s, in fact it was one of the reasons that Michael moved in with Bill; that Bill was one of the only people that Michael knew who had been divorced and also didn’t bore Michael to death. Plus, Michael was eager to become Bill’s pupil and Bill, Michael’s mentor. 

It also seemed that Bill was eager to have another strong back to help carry his shit since the garage was still half full of Bill’s stuff. 

It might not have been such a task if, say, half a dozen Rakiri were there to help, or say, some grunts from the Shil’vati base were available. However, it was the middle of the day and they all had their own tasks. This was a purely Human task. 

That said, they did have a smidge of Human help. Michael’s most recent intern, Carl, had joined them. This wouldn’t be something that Michael would have asked of an intern, but Carl kind of insisted. And now that Michael wasn’t employed as an interpreter with the university there was no formal relationship between the two, Carl wanted to be friends. Michael didn’t mind. He’d like to quote a comedian with regard to friendships that he was “all friended up,” but Michael wouldn’t know that comedian if Carl hadn’t introduced him to the show. This would have to be an exception to his rule about trying things four times. Michael had had more than four friends in his lifetime, but it seemed like life might not be worth too awful much if you only had four friends or four attempts at friendship, whether they're successful or not. 

Carl was a curly-haired, bearded fellow who was not that much younger than Michael. They were a lot alike in many ways, thus the friendship. They were like brothers from other mothers. Once they cleaved, it seemed like they didn’t want to be apart, in a purely platonic way. Well… Yeah, totally platonic. All the same, Michael expected that this wasn’t exactly what Carl signed up for either, but that’s the cost of friendship sometimes. 

Michael did have to stop Carl and Bill a few times. Every now and again, Carl would say something like, “Is this a translucent orange Nintendo 64?“

“You know it.“ Feeling cheered, Bill picked up a box that had numerous Nintendo 64 cartridges inside of it. “Yeah I had the golden Ocarina of Time in here somewhere." He then began to rummage.

Michael fussed, “Hey, we’re not trying to unpack things, we’re trying to pack them up.“

Carl looked at Michael a bit forlorn. Bill rolled his eyes and got his hands back out of the box. Michael grabbed another box from off the pool table and trudged it over to the moving van that they had rented. When he returned from the truck he was passed by Carl and Bill who, in turns, sneered and smirked at Michael. Michael had been wet with sweat for hours but he huffed and chuffed along with thoughts that this task will someday, sometime come to an end. What wasn’t helping was Carl helping Bill reminisce about the old times.

“Is this a signed copy of The Last Wish? For real?“ Carl was amazed.

“Oh, another Witcher fan, eh? Yep, that's the real deal. I got that when I was on leave one time in Germany. He was having a book signing and I made sure I got to go. I’ll have you know I changed so many lightbulbs.“

Michael shook his head at the terrible joke. He wasn’t too sure how much more of that he could take. Luckily he didn’t have to take too much more, the cavalry was on its way.

The gang rolled up in a Shil’vati vehicle which seemed to have some extra storage space if they needed it.

Linnet got out of the passenger seat and asked, “You boys need a hand?” Michael couldn’t help but notice the perspiration that had collected on her undershirt. It seemed to accentuate her features. I’m sure my perspiration accentuates mine as well, he thought as he laughed at himself. 

“Something funny?” Fala asked as she separated herself from the crowd and stood off to the side of the open garage entrance. 

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” Carl recited, giving Fala a slight bow while carrying a box toward the moving truck. She might’ve been blushing under her lavender hair.. 

“I’d rather be compared to a newly cleaned rug because I’m beat!” Michael continued laughing on the outside now. He hefted a box with what might’ve been an overly dramatic grunt. 

Michael made his way out of the garage as the other members of his pack made their way in; he’d assumed correctly that a part of pack culture was like any other pack culture: he was to make contact with every member of some sort or he was snubbing them. He countered with an argument against buttsniffing. 

He recalled the conversation from last night: “You know, that seems to be the way that dogs here greet each other. They, like, circle each other trying to sniff each others’ butts.” That had garnered a brief array of disgust from his pack mates. 

“You’re accustomed to the behavior of Earthly dogs.” Fala stuck her nose up and away from Michael as if she were offended by what he’d just said. “That’d be like us comparing you to apes. Do you go flinging your,” she wrinkled her nose, “feces to defend your territory?”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Michael’s mouth was just faster than his brain, “Not yet.” He stifled a laugh at himself then continued as smoothly as he could manage, “But I don’t have a ‘territory’ to defend.”

Bel’a had perked up from her position on the couch beside Michael. “Would you throw your shit to defend me?” She pretended to swoon at the suggestion.

Michael looked her in the eyes, practically touching noses, “For you,” he blinked dramatically, “I would.”

Linnet poked Michael from his other side, “Let’s hope it doesn’t come down to that.” Michael grabbed at his side as though her poke had hurt him slightly more than it actually had. He laughed with a tinge of guilt. 

“But that’s just it, Michael.” Finley shot a steady jab with his eyes at Michael. The darting motion held almost still but for the characteristic shudder of his body and the involuntary blink of one of his eyes. He seemed to deliberately return his tongue into place in his mouth before continuing, “would you go to any length to defend your pack?” The wet opening and closing of Finley’s mouth diminished the seriousness of his intended message. 

Michael hoped he wasn’t squinting like he was in a face off with Finley like he’d envisioned their interactions usually going. His mind always went to The Good, The Bad and The Ugly whenever Finley addressed him directly. That said, he wasn’t quite sure what to say. He knew what he felt, but he couldn’t quite come up with the words. 

Slowly and deliberately, Bill replied in Michael’s stead, “Ohana means family.”

Michael’s face screwed up with laughter, though he daren’t laugh out loud while making eye contact with Finley. 

Ssgt Remington’s laughter and subsequent slap on Bill’s back was enough to make Finley turn his head so Michael could laugh and bury himself into Linnet’s shoulder to hide better. For what it was worth, Michael could feel Linnet and Bel’a shaking with laughter as well. 

Once they were settled, Michael turned to the group again and said with as straight a face as he could make, “Yes, ohana means family. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my pack.”

Fala returned to the issue at hand. “In Rakiri culture, when we return to the pack from being away for any amount of time, we make sure we physically contact each other.”

Michael scratched his beard, “Ok, not ‘butt sniffing’ as it were, but does physical contact mean hugging every time we see each other?”

“Yes.” Linnet replied too quickly with too straight a face. 

Michael scrunched his face with doubt. “For real?”

“No,” Harley quickly followed up. “The standard formal physical contact is head to head.” Bill mocked a head butt toward Harley when she said that. Harley put a wide paw over his face. “No, not forceful like that.” She put another paw around Bill’s head, holding him in place then demonstrated what she meant. She gently pressed her forehead to his. “Or,” she booped his nose with hers. Bill had smiled ridiculously the whole time. 

“Or you can jump our bones.” Linnet said plainly. 

“Jump your bones—that’s standard?” Michael remained incredulous to Linnet’s flirtations. 

Linnet quickly nodded in reply. 

“No, no thank you,” Ssgt Remington retorted. “In fact, if you’re not comfortable with what Harley showed you, a handshake or a paw bump or a high paw are good enough.”

Michael left his memories of the night before and returned to the present afternoon. Well hell, first time to test my Pack Culture and my hands are full. Shit. He went for the head to head contact instead. He cheeked Linnet, who breathed hotly in his ear as he did. Bel’a gave him a forehead bump and a quick lick on his cheek as she passed. Seems like cheating that she can do that. He bumped elbows with Harley, who’d initiated it. 

Michael heard Bel’a behind him, “Ooh, is that a katana?” He rolled his eyes and kept moving toward the rest of the pack. 

Michael tried to shoulder bump Finley, but Finley wasn’t having anything to do with it. Instead, Finley ducked and managed to swing his tail into Michael’s crotch. It landed with a thwap. His tail hit a few more times as they crossed paths, but none quite as impactful as the first. I’ll have to address that contact with the Pack sometime, Michael thought behind eyes, squinting to hide his pain. 

Ssgt Remington grabbed the box Michael was holding by the bottom and lifted it easily. The Ssgt then gave Michael a hearty handshake. Michael appreciated getting the weight off his hands and the show of fellowship as well. 

“Now that y’all’re here,” Michael twanged, “maybe we can make a ‘bucket brigade’ and get all this stuff into the truck more easily.”

The Ssgt squinted an eye at Michael, then seemed to understand. He removed his cap and gave a kind of whistle. It seemed to come more from his throat than a pursing of his lips, all the same it seemed to get everyone’s attention. 

Though, now that Michael’s full attention was on the Staff Sergeant, it was the first time Michael had noticed the Ssgt’s ears. At first glance, they seemed to be cropped short but upon further inspection, the flesh of his ears was cut unevenly. Like someone took several cuts with a pair of scissors (or worse) instead of one clean clip. Shit, how had I missed that?

“Soldiers!” Ssgt Remmington called to the Rakiri warriors, “Form a-a,” he hesitated to find the words himself. “Form a Conga Line!” The ladies fluidly moved from the assorted boxes and items to which they’d gravitated to a more uniform line. They took to the swing of things quickly, grabbing boxes and shaking their hips.

Bill caught the drift of what was going on from inside the garage. He scampered from where he was to inside of the moving truck where Ssgt Remington was like a contestant on the Price is Right: high fiving and elbowing and bumping hips as he went. Bill ended up giving the Ssgt a jovial shoulder bump before directing him to place the box where he wanted it in the truck. 

Bill then fiddled with his phone to connect it to a bluetooth speaker he’d set up in the garage. He proceeded to play Colonel Hathi’s March from Jungle Book. It wasn’t very long at all before that song ended and he had to move on; keeping with the marching theme, he played the Pink Elephants on Parade theme from Dumbo. He swung his arms rhythmically and directed the twisting torsos of the Rakiri, Michael and Carl to gather and pass his items from the garage to the truck.

“This is the song from that scene where Dumbo gets drunk, right?” Michael asked Carl with a smirk. “It scared me when I was a kid.”

Carl heaved another box Michael’s way and replied, “I bet it’d be better for you if you were high.”

Michael gave a half laugh, “Oh yeah?”

Carl lowered his voice, “We’re not officially assigned to work together anymore, so I don’t feel too bad asking you,” looking from side to side he asked what he’d wanted to ask for a while now, “Do you smoke?”

“My mom smoked my whole childhood. She had to have heart bypass surgery before she gave it up--”

“No, not tobacco,” Carl interrupted with another box, “Jazz cabbage. Electric Lettuce.” He rolled his eyes, having already surmised that the answer was no, “You know, weed.”  

Oh. Michael thought before answering, “No. I haven’t thought about it.”

Michael didn’t consider himself a goodie two shoes by any measure of the idiom, but he also hadn’t tried any illegal substances. Hell, he’d barely drank alcohol before his divorce. I’d tried to do everything right; abide by the rules: don’t get mixed up in any trouble, don’t drink to excess, be faithful--mostly--which was one of the things that stuck in Jessica’s craw. I didn’t sleep with anyone else while we were married, but there was a coworker who got too flirty...but I didn’t cheat! He thought with extra defensiveness. I’ve done everything I thought was right to the best of my ability. Michael looked at Carl, a friend with whom he’d bonded quickly, maybe a little unusually quickly--Carl is a good dude. Maybe he has a habit that a Younger Michael would have disagreed with, but dammit, Carl is a good dude and I’m done trying to do the right thing. Maybe I should give a few of the “wrong things” a try. 

Besides, marijuana was all over Florida. One almost couldn’t escape it. Michael looked at his friend Carl, felt his aching back as he lifted another box, looked down the line at his bounty of new friends and family who were eager to get him and Bill onto base and thought, fuck it.

Michael wiped sweat from his forehead, “You know what, Carl? I’ll try anything four times.”