#bouncing off the walls of my reinforced steel enclosure

[oxventurequotes]

hello all ive been absolutely climbing the walls since The Announcement™ thinking about the new d&d setting johnny's written like holy FUCK!!!! am i ever so conflicted that we're gonna have to say goodbye to the oxventure guild to witness said new setting? deeply yes. am i also frothing at the mouth thinking about new content? also yes.

[passivenovember]

Enclosures.

Harringrove April, Day Ten : Peaches.

--

Steve's gig at White River State Park is, more a less, glorified babysitting.

The hiring manager insisted that the Indianapolis Zoo was in the game of education first, and even though Steve would be working with kids between the ages of four and eleven, escorting them around the park and providing answers to stupid questions and Band-Aids for skinned knees, it wouldn't be juice keggers with kids all year.

Because during the off months, when the city scape was covered in layers of snow, Steve would get to wander the grounds with his favorite activity bag, post up under a shady awning in the jungle, and feed the fruit bats.

So that's why he took the job.

Zoo Academy Monday through Wednesday and vibes on December weekends. Moments of solitude doing the job every keeper wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole. 

That was the deal. 

Written in stone, as far as Steve is concerned. This is what he was put on this Earth--

“You’re doing it wrong.” 

Steve nearly drops the slice of mango in his hand, starling when that deep, husky voice cuts through the air like a machete in the jungle. 

“Fuck.” Steve wipes his hands on his pants, turning to face. 

A new keeper. 

Dressed in standard fatigues. Tan overalls and goulashes, ham radio crackling like desert heat against his waist. 

New Keeper points to the ring of wire in Steve’s hand, mimicking the way he’s been feeding slices of fruit over thick, unruly steel. “Takes too long if you do it that way,” He says.

But, listen. “I’ve always done it this way.” 

“So?”

“I was taught to do it this way.” 

New Keeper shuffles up to the cave entrance, leaning his forearms on the steel barrier that keeps Steve’s bats from dive-bombing kids and grandmas. 

He’s wearing aviators, so Steve can’t see his eyes, but. New Keeper gives him the once over--

Steve is 85% sure--

Before spitting a wad of saliva on the ground next to Steve’s boot. “Who taught ya to string the fruit like that, pretty boy?”

“I’m not.” Steve shouldn’t be flushing deep red. He shouldn’t be salivating. “I’m not--”

“Was it Rachel?” And New Keeper says it with so much malice. Like, “None of these keepers are worth the paper their degree is printed on, I swear--”

“It wasn’t--”

“Y’know I caught Travis in Rhino Valley trying to give food as positive reinforcement?” New Keeper shakes his head, neck muscles chording dramatically. “Everyone knows they take better to physical affection as a reward, alright?”

“Yeah, I mean--”

“Everyone knows that.” New Keeper concludes, watching as Steve’s head bounces around frantically. 

“Everyone knows that.” Steve agrees.

Fucking idiots. 

New Keeper’s mouth ticks up at one corner, almost like he could laugh if he wasn’t busy dealing with his own body. Ripping biceps and pectorals that should pop the seams on his overalls when New Keeper rolls his spine. 

“They told me you’re in charge of the bats.” Steve feels those eyes on him again, head to toe and back up again. “That true?”

Steve shrugs, fiddling with his name badge. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Don’t sound so sure.”

“Yeah, well, I mean.” He gestures to the line of steel rings that have been there, permanently, for as long as anyone can remember. “If I’ve been doing it wrong the whole time I don’t wanna claim ownership.”

New Keeper grunts, like. 

The salt of the earth, red blooded American asshole he is. He tips the aviators, letting them slide down his nose until blue eyes. The bluest Steve has ever fucking seen, pin him in place. 

“You’re not a keeper, are ya?”

Steve tries not to get lost. “Well. No, I’m--”

New Keeper turns to face him, clasping his wrists together and allowing his chest to. Puff. Distract, holy shit, when his biceps follow suit. 

Steve tries to tear his eyes away. 

Fails. 

“What do you do then?”

Steve watches a bead of sweat trail from jawline to collarbone, just. Ruining his life. He blinks owlishly. “Sorry, what?”

New Keeper is almost smiling. “Your job. What kinda.” His tongue flicks out to wet. Pretty, red lips. “Services. Do you provide.”

Steve realizes, distantly, that they’re flirting. 

And.

He’s familiar with the concept, alright, but. Steve’s never flirted while wearing hiking boots covered in goat shit, so. 

He gestures to his name tag. 

The goofy, pixilated staff picture of him and a title beneath that reads; Zoo Academy : Supervisor. Steve wonders if it’s obvious that he works with kids, given the plethora of googly-eyed animal stickers covering the majority of his name tag’s plastic casing.

New Keeper whistles low, removing his aviators entirely, and.

Tugging.

Steve forward by his title. Eyes glowing bright. 

“Kinda training you get over in the Education Department teach you anything about fruit bats, princess?”

Steve sorts through the absolute trough alphabet soup flooding his brain. Opens his mouth and closes it again, when. New Keeper rubs the pad of his thumb along the largest, most gaudy of the animal stickers. 

New Keeper raises his eyebrow and Steve. 

Jolts into motion. “No. Um. I have CPR training, and. First aid training.” Steve lets himself be tugged forward again. Just close enough to smell the mix of Earth and Hay that all the keepers have clinging into their skin, and. 

Cologne.

Heady and sweet, underneath all that. He blinks again, trying to clear his head as New Keeper smiles at him.

Really smiles.

For the first time.

Steve nods. “I work with shitheads.”

He isn’t expecting it, when. New Keeper laughs. Loud and sudden, and. So warm. Startling the fleet of bats that have come by looking for their afternoon peaches. 

“Tell me about it. They stick you on Bat Duty without any training?” New Keeper nods, finally, finally, releasing Steve from the weird spell he’s put him under. He turns, gesturing to box of fruit at their feet. “I’m gonna have to remedy that, pretty boy.”

Steve nods, like. “Steve.” Before sticking his hand out.

New Keeper nods it away. “Billy. Your training starts on Friday.”

Billy puts his aviators on and.

Starts to walk away.

Kicking up a cloud of that woodsy, delicious scent. Steve scrambles after him. “Okay, training. Friday.”

They round the corner into the section of the jungle that houses a waterfall. The biggest, most breathtaking in the Midwest.

New Keeper keeps on walking. “Yup, see you then.”

“Yeah, listen Keeper Man--”

“Billy.”

Steve runs into a wall of muscle, shying away from the pair of hands that steady him. 

He nods. “Billy.” Cheeks flaming bright red as New Keeper smiles, soft and sweet. Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t take this the wrong way, and like. I totally want to do what’s best for the animals, especially the fruit bats, but. I don’t think I need any training.”

Billy looks him over again. Up and down. “I beg to differ, Bambi.”

“Yeah, I--”

“Won’t have any untrained preschool teacher working with my animals.” Billy says. Matter-of-fact, like, “No matter how annoyingly cute they are.”

Cute. 

It hits Steve like an under-ripe peach to the back of the head. He shuffles, nervously, before puffing out his chest, and. Deflating again, when Billy raises his eyebrows. 

“Just what am I doing wrong, exactly?”

Billy removes his sunglasses, rolling his neck. “You got an hour?”

Steve smiles sharply. “Gimme the basics.”

“Alright, pretty boy.” Billy stars listing things on his fingers. “Well, first off? You don’t need to peel the fruit. Bats get a lot of their nutrients from the rinds that come on the fruits themselves. If we deplete those nutrients they gotta be replaced another way and I don’t exactly have the time to administer vitamins to four hundred fruit bats, two hundred flying foxes and a handful of pissy vampire--”

“Alright, got it.” Steve sucks his teeth, because. The fruit comes like that. Ends up in the box, along with the steel wire and the gloves he’s supposed to wear but never does, just like that. Sans peel. 

Billy grins at him--

Looks him up and down. Steve wishes he’d stop doing that--

Before pointing at his feet. “Doc Martens are not work boots.”

Steve looks down. Around. “What’s wrong with my docs?”

“Nothing,” Billy shrugs, like, “They’re fine if you spend all day dragging screaming brats around the zoo. Answering questions and painting booger-stained cheeks, but. They aren’t work boots. Aren’t keeper boots.”

Steve doesn’t understand. “I’m not a keeper,” He says, because. As much time as he’s spent in the jungle. Learning about the animals and feeing his bats, Steve. 

Isn’t.

He wishes he could be, but. 

Billy shrugs again, massive shoulders drawing Steve’s attention. “No, you aren’t a keeper. Not yet, anyway.”

Steve turns the words over in his mind, trying to discover the meaning. 

Billy tugs on Steve’s nametag again. “See you Friday, pretty boy.” He drawls, and then. 

He’s gone.

Steve makes a note to stop at Cabella’s on his way home.