I'm havin' a bad, bad day [Donovan]

Cake. That's all the text on his phone read, and Donovan had almost missed it with his text notifications permanently on silent. Not that he got them often anyway. As mouthy as his roommate could be, going on endlessly pointless rants, he sure had a way of being succinct in his demands that allowed little room for negotiation. And it had to be a demand, or he had to at least operate under the assumption that it was, clarifying more trouble than it was worth. Altan had been on tour for the last week, and Donovan hadn't realized that that he was due to be back until he confirmed the date on his phone calendar. The 17th. When did that happen? Sometimes it felt like the months were going by too quickly, but then he really had nothing too important approaching to pace them.

After a mental checklist, he already had most of the ingredients for cake back home. His kitchen was usually well-stocked in baking supplies, as he enjoyed making cakes almost as much as his sugar-addicted roommate enjoyed consuming them at an unhealthy rate, but he'd finished off the eggs that morning for a lazy but tasty omelet. Which were easy enough to pick up, and on his path home from the beach where he'd spent most of his morning avoiding getting a tan and being too distracted by nicely muscled men without shirts to read, he stopped at the first store that looked like it might have at least a basic grocery selection. Eggs were basic. Donovan wandered toward the back of the store, where eggs and dairy were generally located, but glancing around in case this store happened to break that pattern.

Another flash across his phone alerted him to a second demand. Chocolate. Donovan suppressed a sigh, about to grumble a quiet "fuck off" when he heard a much louder and vaguely familiar voice snap the same thing. Donovan wasn't generally good with faces nor names of even more frequent acquaintances, but it had been only a few days since he'd met Moose and the man was automatically recognizable even from the back in a way most people weren't. He hadn't expected to see Moose ever again even after offering his phone number as contact, and it probably would have been an occasion for at least some gladness, except it looked as if the man had managed to find himself into a bit of developing trouble.

Interfering wasn't something he usually considered a good idea, didn't like to get involved with even his own problems. He wasn't even sure what the situation was, and it wasn't his business. But then Moose was right there with the milk, which was inconveniently right next to the eggs, and it would be a bit awkward to try maneuvering around what looked like it might become a fight if the tension between Moose and the store owner wasn't broken. In the brief time that he'd spoken to Moose, he liked to think of him as somebody worth helping out.

"Everything okay?" he interrupted calmly, placing himself between the two.

Those little details, changes in Moose's appearance weren't quite processed yet, but he got the general impression that he looked better than when they met before. It wasn't enough to go off of to assume anything by it, but Donovan spared some hope that Moose had managed to improve his situation even a little in that short time.

It might not have been immediately appreciated by either man, putting himself right in the middle of their conflict, but at least it had the desired effect of getting both to back down a bit. Maybe the delay wouldn't last long, but at least provided an opportunity to get things talked out since he doubted this was rooted in any actual serious issue like Moose sleeping with the man's wife or running over his dog. It was always a wonder how misunderstandings could escalate from nothing. He'd had plenty of experience as a mediator between his squabbling siblings to remain passive enough not to have any of the anger redirected at himself but firm enough in his stance not to go ignored.

"Ah," Donovan pondered the apparently provoking qualities of milk, giving the impatient manager a bit of a dismissive shrug. "What kind of milk?" he asked in attempt to be helpful, because that same question had plagued him endlessly when he first started buying it from stores. His family had always gotten unpasteurized milk straight from farms nearby, and the difference in taste and all the varieties had been difficult to get used to.

Donovan mustered a polite smile as the manager left, obviously still annoyed but probably appreciative that he didn't have to solve the milk problem himself that he wasn't going to protest Donovan taking over. He could guess that it wasn't solely impatience that drove the confrontation, there was a distinct impression that the manager had singled Moose out where he might have been more lenient or even helpful with anyone else. Just like at the restaurant, where everybody else had been too intimidated to sit with the man. These sorts of situations, being treated with obvious distrust and avoidance, probably weren't the most encouraging. Maybe Moose was dangerous, Donovan didn't know, but was there really anything threatening about a man confused by a milk section?

Some people just seemed overly anxious and willing to give into unjustified fear. And that fear-driven defensiveness had a way of creating yourself as a target of backlash, because Donovan could guess that Moose really hadn't wanted to hit the man until provoked. He'd been barely holding himself from doing so, but he had abstained. Was the manager trying to cause a fight to prove his own preconceptions, that he was willing to get hit to condemn Moose?

But annoyance at the manager wasn't going to help Moose get his milk and him the eggs, and Donovan never liked to dwell too much on the negativity of others. "I'm fine," he smiled lightly, because there really wasn't all too much going on to report.  He was alive.  "Well, the good news is that if he," and Donovan had no guesses as to who this he was, "didn't specify, he's probably not too picky."

Scanning the options, he quickly selected a gallon of 2%, figuring it was standard enough, even though he was tempted to select whole for Moose given he probably needed the extra calories. But this was for somebody else? Donovan didn't want to pry. "Soy milk is actually just a bean, not from a cow. Usually people that want soy milk will be very insistent upon telling you repeatedly," he explained, indicating the non-dairy substitutes before offering the gallon over. "Chocolate is great, but you probably don't want that."

"No better nor worse than usual," Donovan admitted honestly, nothing significant happening the last few days to change his overall outlook on life. Nothing really interesting to report, and doubting Moose would care too much to hear about the more mundane details of his life. "My roommate returned today from his concert tour," he added with a tinge of annoyance, moving away from Moose to inspect the egg selection. He didn't want to get too many, because he had to haul them back in his book bag, risking them all getting smashed. "I'm making a chocolate cake to celebrate the occasion," and it was close enough to the truth. It wasn't as if he could really survive without the other man paying the majority of the bills.

Grabbing a half dozen of whatever the cheapest brand of eggs were, Donovan double-checked the cash in his pocket to make sure he had enough to cover the purchase. And then after counting the random assortment of change and confirming he had enough, he grabbed a half-pint of chocolate milk to indulge his sudden craving. "Had any luck finding a place?" he asked with a casual glance over his shoulder, deciding not to comment upon the fact that Moose definitely looked better than when they met. Definitely looked as if he'd at least bathed since then.

"The he that told you to get milk?" Donovan clarified curiously. He was glad that his suggestion for finding a place online had been unneeded, glad that Moose had somebody willing to help him out personally rather than just a stranger he hadn't met. Donovan had come across rather questionable people in his own search, and for all of Moose's size to ward people off... he also seemed a bit naive. "That must be quite a big couch."

About to bring his few purchases to the register so they could check out before the manager returned with renewed grumpy vengeance, something else occurred to him. Donovan considered the gallon in Moose's grasp for a moment, before stepping into Moose's space just enough to read the date printed on the side of the plastic jug. While Donovan didn't doubt that between Moose and another man, they could finish off a gallon in a day or two, he generally didn't like to risk buying something too close to the expiration date.

Then he quickly checked the next couple jugs, finding one with a few more days to spare. "Put that one back, this one will be good for longer," he suggested.

This thing was met with a raised eyebrow, because something kept that vague could be any range of things, and the choice to keep it cryptic made the more questionable options seem more likely. Or Moose just didn't want to go into too many details, because he'd been just as guilty about only giving as little as possible. His imagination was probably far stranger than the truth of the situation. Either way, it was another thing that Donovan was a bit curious about, but didn't want to pry for more unless it was offered freely.

"When milk goes bad, you'll know it," Donovan wrinkled his nose a bit, remembering his own experiences with sour milk. Somehow it had a way of lingering in the back of his consciousness, making him second guess his choice of chocolate milk and consider orange juice instead. But the moment passed, and he headed to the checkout, expecting Moose to follow without giving any explicit instructions to do so. Even if he was helping the older man out, he wasn't going to default to treating him like one of his younger siblings. It had taken awhile to break himself of that habit, learned quickly that people didn't really appreciate being mothered.

The surly manager was waiting for them, his continued annoyance at least kept quiet as Donovan smiled cheerfully. "Can I get a bag, please?"

There weren't many people that would consider Donovan all that knowledgeable, all that organized given his habit of avoiding responsibility where possible. He was used to people considering him sheltered and far too flippant to really take what he said seriously, even when his ideas weren't all that unreasonable. And to be fair, Donovan had a way of undermining his own credibility with his often far-too-relaxed attitude and lack of interest in winning anyone over. So it was nice not to be at the receiving end of patronizing thinly-veiled as light teasing for once.

Donovan wasn't particularly controlling, considered himself more than open to criticism where necessary, but he definitely appreciated Moose's compliance. Moose's lack of questioning. He was too used to being challenged over such simple things. Maybe he wasn't going about things in the typical or acceptable ways, but Donovan liked to think he was getting by just fine anyway. And Moose was going to be just fine too, Donovan decided, just because everyone's expectations were nonsense. Because people like the diners in the restaurant and the shop manager were rooting for them to fail out of their own sense of superiority. Normally it wasn't enough to annoy him on his own behalf, but seeing it happen to Moose was more difficult to ignore, made him want to help Moose in any way he could.

"I don't blame you for wanting to," Donovan sighed, knotting the plastic shopping bag closed in case the eggs broke. He set his backpack down on the sidewalk and unzipped it, shuffled around the books he had failed reading earlier to make room to place the eggs inside. "He deserved it. But I think sometimes people are just wanting to create reasons for you to mess up." Throwing the bag back over his shoulders, Donovan shrugged. "Don't give that kind of idiot the satisfaction of making you snap."

With Moose's strength, the way he carried the jug of milk around like it weighed nothing, there really no worry of Moose not being able to defend himself in any fight he managed to get himself into. In fact, Moose probably could do a lot more damage than he intended, especially if he lost his temper. And even without knowing about Moose's past or parole, he knew that anything involving the police would probably end poorly and not all that sympathetic in his favour. But it was good to know that Moose had other people in his life now to help bail him out if needed, or at least he hoped that whoever Osk and Rhiannon were that they were looking out for him and not just letting him crash on their couch. He doubted that his phone number had survived on Moose's hand long enough to be any good.

"Ah, me? Yeah, I used to work at a flower shop," he perked up a bit while unlocking his bicycle from the rack in front of the shop. He had enjoyed that job a lot because of the relaxing environment and easily-pleased customers. "But it got closed because of slow business," and maybe it was the slow business that made it likable in the first place. What a shame. "Now I work at a radio station as a host. Bluegrass music." He would have added you've probably never heard of it but he'd been at the receiving end of that from pretentious hipsters enough to avoid using it toward anyone else. Even if it was most likely true. For one, people didn't seem to listen to the radio much anymore, and bluegrass seemed especially unpopular.

"What about you?" Donovan asked, not wanting to assume to much of anything. Moose had been able to afford a steak when they met, even if it was half-priced, so perhaps he had some sort of income.

"It's mostly played on string instruments," Donovan explained briefly, not wanting to go too deeply into defining the genre to somebody probably not that interested. This seemed like the wrong part of the country for it to have too big of a following. Outside of the station, he couldn't say he met anybody who claimed to be a fan or even a casual listener.

Getting the chain free, Donovan wheeled his bike forward a bit, but made no movement to get on quite yet. The conversation was still going fine, and he genuinely liked Moose's presence to make any rushed excuse to leave prematurely. "But if you're ever curious and unable to sleep at two in the morning, the station is 101.9." And he suspected that would go just as unused as any other information he provided Moose (not that he minded) but he wanted to at least give Moose a chance to decide for himself and liked encouraging others to listen to something new. "Any kind of music you like?" he asked, absolutely no idea what kind of answer to expect in return.

It wasn't difficult to imagine Moose as a bodyguard, could see how his size and appearance would discourage most potential threats. And Moose seemed particularly happy about it, whether through pride of making his own living or finding the work itself exciting. Maybe it was a bit dangerous, Donovan really had no idea about what sorts of clients he had or what sorts of real or potential threats they might be under, but he was probably more than capable of handling it. "That's great," he smiled easily in response to Moose's own grin, sure this was the first time he'd such an expression on the man's face. "Do you actually get to save people, or are your fearsome looks enough to scare everyone off?"