Little Mini Bert
Quinn
A pounding on the door followed the doorbell, and an all too familiar voice piped up from the other side.
“Berty werty!” Quinn’s voice muffled slightly. Bert rolled his eyes at the nickname his friend had chosen for him. “Quinny’s come to check if you’re behaving yourself.”
Bert glanced down at the miniature horse – which had been licking his palm since he threw the little plastic bag from sight – with progressively widening eyes. No, no, no. Quinn couldn’t see, not yet. He would almost certainly start asking questions if he saw the tiny animal, and he hated being put on the spot. No, he had to come up with a diversion, and quick. He ran into the living room, closely followed by the horse.
“Uh… No one’s home!” Bert inwardly cringed as he shouted the words. Really? Seriously? “Come back later.”
“Good cover, man.” There was a brief pause before another round of beatings attacked the door. “Seriously, open the goddamn door! I’m not leaving until you do.”
A growl emitted from under Bert’s breath as he wiped the tail of saliva on his jeans. He stood and hastily tried to find something in the room that would hide a small creature from obvious sight. He hoped the back of the couch would do fine.
“Come on, little one,” he said in a soft voice, hoping Quinn wouldn’t hear him. He guided the horse the short distance and into the moderately sized gap in the back. He grabbed a couple of cushions as a second thought and placed them in front of the limited open space for good measure.
“Try and keep quiet, okay?”
“Bert! C’mon!” Quinn yelled again. “It’s freezing out here!”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming!” He opened the door to a dark haired man, all wrapped up in worn winter clothing.
“Quinn, what a pleasant surprise!” Bert gave off the sort of smile he possessed where no one could be entirely sure whether he was genuinely happy or annoyingly cocky. “I thought I heard a pig squealing.”
“Fuck you,” said Quinn, grinning from behind his thick, wooly scarf. He slipped past his friend into the bare sitting area, and his eyes shifted from each surface and rested on every place in room, every nook and cranny, searching for something specific. Bert couldn’t necessarily tell where the other man’s vision wandered, but he had a pretty good idea of what his friend was trying to look for.
“Please. Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“All of this,” Bert tried to keep his voice to a minimum and not let it break out of frustration. “It’s bullshit.”
Quinn spun around and intently latched his own eyes with Bert’s own. He chewed the inside of his cheek, choosing his words warily. “Bert, I didn’t come here to pick a fight with you.”
“I don’t want to pick a fight. I’m just letting loose what needs to be said, that’s all.” He took a breath and huffed. “I can’t believe you thought I was on drugs.”
Well…okay, maybe it was partially true. It was just the fact that his own best friend was so quick to come to conclusions and bluntly ask him like that, and even though he’d never admit it to anyone, it stung hard.
“Look, man, I’m just worried about you-”
“Blah,” Bert unfolded his arms, and started using wild hand motions as he spoke, “Oh no! Little old Bert is feeling a little bit low, he must be back on the hard stuff to stifle his poor, poor troubles.” His voice rose a few octaves in an obvious attempt to imitate Quinn’s tone. “Boo fucking hoo.”
“Dude.” Quinn’s mouth twitched at the side. “If that was supposed to be me, that was a terrible attempt.”
“No, no, no. Don’t change the subject. I know what you’re doing, Allman. Don’t even-”
Now, Bert wasn’t a man who would easily trip over his own words. Neither was he a man who wouldn’t finish what had already been started. Occasionally. Hell, there was almost nothing that could put him into the position of wanting the ground to swallow him whole out of pure embarrassment. This, though, was going to be…difficult to explain. Bert kind of hoped his friend didn’t notice his gaze focused on the creature about to take a large chunk of Quinn’s leg.
Bert opened his mouth to think, to talk. He was fortunately relieved of the forced thinking by a startled, manly yelp in correlation with the tearing of denim.
“Well look at that,” Bert quietly murmured, his face scrunched up in uneasiness. “He likes you.”
“Bert…” Quinn looked slightly bedazzled; he was not sure whether he was actually seeing the form of miniature horse standing at his feet in Bert’s apartment, or if the frost and sleep deficiency had simply gotten to his head. “That’s a… I mean, Bert, jeez… It’s a horse.”
Bert fought giving the eye roll. “No way, Sherlock.”
“And it just made a huge hole in my pants!”
“Okay, first off, please refrain from calling the horse ‘it’. Say ‘little one’ instead. Animals have ears and feelings too. And secondly,” Bert said with a smirk, “It could have been worse; all he did was gnaw on you a little.”
Quinn sighed heavily, rubbing the side of the animal’s cheek. “Bert, why is there a horse here of all places?”
Bert shrugged, his eyes drawn to the fuzzy creature picking at the stray threads of material that were earlier yanked cruelly out of its weave. “I found the little thing out on my doorstep. Drop and run.”
Quinn looked skeptical.
“What? It’s true! You can look at the basket yourself if you really want to!”
“No thanks. I believe you.”
Bert pinched his nose, holding back a yawn. He didn’t quite realize how tiring it was running around after something that wasn’t himself. It was just like a baby, only hairier, he thought. He opened his eyes to the sound of Quinn clicking his tongue, so he casually strolled into the kitchen where a clutter of bangs of cupboard doors and clinking of connecting metal followed thereafter.
“What are you doing?” Bert pursed his band mate
“I’m looking for some food. Something a horse can actually eat, like carrots or apples. Water. I need plenty of water too.” Quinn was hastily fiddling in the fridge. “You are sorely lacking in food, man.”
He shut the door securely and twisted around to see a blank-faced Bert leaning against the doorframe. “I’ll go out and get some necessities…and maybe pick up some fast food. I hate to think how you’ve been eating if that’s all you’ve got in your kitchen.”
With that, Quinn shifted his scarf around his neck more comfortably and was out the door. Bert was still wondering what the hell had just happened, especially since Quinn had just proven himself useful after all.
“Berty werty!” Quinn’s voice muffled slightly. Bert rolled his eyes at the nickname his friend had chosen for him. “Quinny’s come to check if you’re behaving yourself.”
Bert glanced down at the miniature horse – which had been licking his palm since he threw the little plastic bag from sight – with progressively widening eyes. No, no, no. Quinn couldn’t see, not yet. He would almost certainly start asking questions if he saw the tiny animal, and he hated being put on the spot. No, he had to come up with a diversion, and quick. He ran into the living room, closely followed by the horse.
“Uh… No one’s home!” Bert inwardly cringed as he shouted the words. Really? Seriously? “Come back later.”
“Good cover, man.” There was a brief pause before another round of beatings attacked the door. “Seriously, open the goddamn door! I’m not leaving until you do.”
A growl emitted from under Bert’s breath as he wiped the tail of saliva on his jeans. He stood and hastily tried to find something in the room that would hide a small creature from obvious sight. He hoped the back of the couch would do fine.
“Come on, little one,” he said in a soft voice, hoping Quinn wouldn’t hear him. He guided the horse the short distance and into the moderately sized gap in the back. He grabbed a couple of cushions as a second thought and placed them in front of the limited open space for good measure.
“Try and keep quiet, okay?”
“Bert! C’mon!” Quinn yelled again. “It’s freezing out here!”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming!” He opened the door to a dark haired man, all wrapped up in worn winter clothing.
“Quinn, what a pleasant surprise!” Bert gave off the sort of smile he possessed where no one could be entirely sure whether he was genuinely happy or annoyingly cocky. “I thought I heard a pig squealing.”
“Fuck you,” said Quinn, grinning from behind his thick, wooly scarf. He slipped past his friend into the bare sitting area, and his eyes shifted from each surface and rested on every place in room, every nook and cranny, searching for something specific. Bert couldn’t necessarily tell where the other man’s vision wandered, but he had a pretty good idea of what his friend was trying to look for.
“Please. Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“All of this,” Bert tried to keep his voice to a minimum and not let it break out of frustration. “It’s bullshit.”
Quinn spun around and intently latched his own eyes with Bert’s own. He chewed the inside of his cheek, choosing his words warily. “Bert, I didn’t come here to pick a fight with you.”
“I don’t want to pick a fight. I’m just letting loose what needs to be said, that’s all.” He took a breath and huffed. “I can’t believe you thought I was on drugs.”
Well…okay, maybe it was partially true. It was just the fact that his own best friend was so quick to come to conclusions and bluntly ask him like that, and even though he’d never admit it to anyone, it stung hard.
“Look, man, I’m just worried about you-”
“Blah,” Bert unfolded his arms, and started using wild hand motions as he spoke, “Oh no! Little old Bert is feeling a little bit low, he must be back on the hard stuff to stifle his poor, poor troubles.” His voice rose a few octaves in an obvious attempt to imitate Quinn’s tone. “Boo fucking hoo.”
“Dude.” Quinn’s mouth twitched at the side. “If that was supposed to be me, that was a terrible attempt.”
“No, no, no. Don’t change the subject. I know what you’re doing, Allman. Don’t even-”
Now, Bert wasn’t a man who would easily trip over his own words. Neither was he a man who wouldn’t finish what had already been started. Occasionally. Hell, there was almost nothing that could put him into the position of wanting the ground to swallow him whole out of pure embarrassment. This, though, was going to be…difficult to explain. Bert kind of hoped his friend didn’t notice his gaze focused on the creature about to take a large chunk of Quinn’s leg.
Bert opened his mouth to think, to talk. He was fortunately relieved of the forced thinking by a startled, manly yelp in correlation with the tearing of denim.
“Well look at that,” Bert quietly murmured, his face scrunched up in uneasiness. “He likes you.”
“Bert…” Quinn looked slightly bedazzled; he was not sure whether he was actually seeing the form of miniature horse standing at his feet in Bert’s apartment, or if the frost and sleep deficiency had simply gotten to his head. “That’s a… I mean, Bert, jeez… It’s a horse.”
Bert fought giving the eye roll. “No way, Sherlock.”
“And it just made a huge hole in my pants!”
“Okay, first off, please refrain from calling the horse ‘it’. Say ‘little one’ instead. Animals have ears and feelings too. And secondly,” Bert said with a smirk, “It could have been worse; all he did was gnaw on you a little.”
Quinn sighed heavily, rubbing the side of the animal’s cheek. “Bert, why is there a horse here of all places?”
Bert shrugged, his eyes drawn to the fuzzy creature picking at the stray threads of material that were earlier yanked cruelly out of its weave. “I found the little thing out on my doorstep. Drop and run.”
Quinn looked skeptical.
“What? It’s true! You can look at the basket yourself if you really want to!”
“No thanks. I believe you.”
Bert pinched his nose, holding back a yawn. He didn’t quite realize how tiring it was running around after something that wasn’t himself. It was just like a baby, only hairier, he thought. He opened his eyes to the sound of Quinn clicking his tongue, so he casually strolled into the kitchen where a clutter of bangs of cupboard doors and clinking of connecting metal followed thereafter.
“What are you doing?” Bert pursed his band mate
“I’m looking for some food. Something a horse can actually eat, like carrots or apples. Water. I need plenty of water too.” Quinn was hastily fiddling in the fridge. “You are sorely lacking in food, man.”
He shut the door securely and twisted around to see a blank-faced Bert leaning against the doorframe. “I’ll go out and get some necessities…and maybe pick up some fast food. I hate to think how you’ve been eating if that’s all you’ve got in your kitchen.”
With that, Quinn shifted his scarf around his neck more comfortably and was out the door. Bert was still wondering what the hell had just happened, especially since Quinn had just proven himself useful after all.