To Whom it May Concern » Places

         They drove through the night. An old man in a mauve crushed-velvet jacket and sunglasses, a woman in a simple blouse and slacks, and a rather talkative parrot. Were it any other person, it would have seemed the setup to a particularly humorous joke; however, the universe isn't so kind, and this situation, however comical it might seem from the outside, was in fact perfectly serious. The man was Mister G. Harlowe, and the woman was Clotilde, and the parrot's name was James, although he was presumed to have another name that only a select few actually spoke. Mister Harlowe was very strict about his secrets, though; and as such, nobody knew whether James the Parrot had any name other than James the Parrot, and to be honest - not too many were inclined to find out.

Mister G. Harlowe had nodded off several times during the rather long journey, despite the animated state in which the odd trio had begun it, no doubt a sign of his age. But when the group arrived at Calpin, at all-too-early in the morning, no less, Mister G. Harlowe was quick to rouse himself, retrieving his oaken cane from where it rested against his thigh.

"We have arrived," Clotilde and Mister Harlowe said, with eerie synchronization. Clotilde would have been startled by this when she had started her service under Mister G. Harlowe, but now, three years after her contract had been signed, she found her reaction dulled to just a blink. Mister Harlowe flashed his odd, thin-lipped smile at her and popped the door of the car open. James, stirred by the bing-bing-binging of the door's alarm, fluttered over from the back of the car to assume his position at Mister Harlowe's shoulder.

They were in a community parking lot in front of a mid-scale motel, Clotilde holding two sizable luggage bags and Mister Harlowe himself unloading a few more from the trunk of their car before hauling it to the lobby, where a half-asleep young man with scruffy hair and a farmer's build was scribbling busily over a set of worksheets on the front desk. Mister Harlowe cleared his throat audibly before walking up to the desk and prodding the young man in the shoulder. "Young man," He said in his oddly soothing voice, "I'd like to rent two rooms for an indefinite period of time. You will be paid very well for your services, I assure you."

The young man stared for a few moments. "... You got a parrot on your shoulder."

Mister Harlowe blinked, then turned to his left, where James rested at the crook of his neck. He appeared to blink behind his tiny sunglasses, then turned his attention back to the young man. "Yes, it would seem that I do. And I believe his name is James, and he's been unusually quiet this whole time." He adjusted his shoulder a few times, jostling the parrot. "James. James, introduce yourself."

"AWWWWWK MOTHERFUCKIN' HELL WHAT"

"This young man's taken notice of you, it would seem." Mister Harlowe grinned at James' outburst.

"FUCKER WOKE ME UP FROM MY FUCKIN NAP I AIN'T FUCKIN INTRODUCING SHIT"

"... Rude, James."

"FUCKIN' SCREW HIM"

Harlowe seemed taken aback. He looked to Clotilde, then to the young man. "... I apologize. My companion is quite ill-tempered at times. You would do best to see that we get our rooms arranged posthaste, sir, or he tends to... Peck." As if to amplify this last point, James the Parrot let out a loud SKWAWK and flailed his wings, as if he were about to take off. Perturbed, the young man went and got two room keys from the back wall of the reception desk and presented them to Mister Harlowe, who smiled his best sweet-old-man smile and nodded. "Thank you, young man." And then he strode off down the hallway towards his room.

'I'm going to have my work cut out for me in this town, it would seem...' Harlowe thought to himself as he walked away.

{~}

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