CAUTION TO THE WIND → supplies

[michael t.]

YOU NEVER GAVE UP ON ME; WHY DON'T YOU?
I'LL NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU SEE; WHY WON'T YOU?

Needless to say, the days following Trevor's death had been... rough, on Michael. The dealer rarely emerged from his home in the aftermath, curled up on his bed and staring at the wall as his mind tried to process all that had happened. Occasionally his stomach would give a mournful growl, reminding him that it had been some time since he had eaten. Still, he just ignored it, just as he ignored most outside things as he desperately attempted to cope with the loss of his husband. The only thing that didn't go ignored was the company of others – namely, his family. His children were his first priority at the moment, and he made sure to let his pups curl up with him whenever they wanted, encouraging them to go out and eat and do things as needed. He knew it was hypocritical, telling them to go out and live properly while he was clearly spiraling, but he wasn't about to just lock them up inside with him. They were kids, for God's sake. They deserved to go out and live good lives, and be able to make themselves happy even through the loss of their father.

In addition to the company of his children, he also got common visits from the usual suspects. Goldie, Roxanne, Diya, Roan... all of them came to check up on him, trying to make him feel better or convince him to eat something. In some cases they succeeded a bit, such as when Roxie or Goldie managed to get a laugh from him, or when Diya had forcibly brought food right into his room. Ultimately, the bobcat knew that he would recover, whether he liked it or not, because he had people who cared about him. Not only the family members that had already come to visit him, but also the entire group of The Typhoon, many of whom had already expressed their concern for Michael's wellbeing. It warmed his heart in a way, knowing that he had come so far from the days when he hadn't cared for anyone except himself, and Trevor.

He also knew that, in the end, Trevor wouldn't want him to be wallowing like this. Although they had both loved each other very much, the coyote had always made it clear that he didn't want Michael to fall apart following his death. He wanted the dealer to keep living and experiencing things that made him happy. That was what Trev had always tried to do in his life, and that was honestly what had finally driven the thief out of bed. He couldn't afford to just fall apart, and although he knew he wouldn't be completely fine anytime soon – if ever – he also knew that he would be wasting his life if he just laid in bed and allowed himself to starve. So, despite the way that the world seemed faintly muffled and muted around him, Michael stepped out of his room and headed into his kitchen, looking around for something small to eat. He was sure he'd need to take a bath as well, considering his fur was wild and unkempt from days without moving unless it was for something vital.

The male had been up on his hind legs, searching for some kind of nutrition within his mostly empty cabinets, when he suddenly heard a soft thud come from the front door of his hut. Glancing over, Michael tilted his head to one side, confused by what the noise could've been. Was it Diya, coming around with another large piece of prey to try and get him to eat? He wouldn't have minded that at this point, considering the way his stomach gnawed and roared at him. After just a moment of hesitation, the dealer made his way around the counter and over to the front door, opening it slowly, only to pause when he saw what was on the other side. There was another darkly colored feline in front of him, covered in sparse patches of white, hunched over as if his head had been resting against the door. And considering the thud that had attracted Michael over to the door in the first place, he was inclined to believe that was exactly what the other had been doing. Not only that, but what looked to be some kind of... gift basket lingered nearby in plain view, a fact which made the thief's stomach give another unruly growl.

Feeling embarrassed by the sudden noise from his stomach, Michael was quick to clear his throat, a crooked little smile on his muzzle as he spoke, "Uh... hey there?" He wasn't quite sure what to say, given the circumstances. He vaguely recognized the other as... Harland, if he was remembering correctly. The other had been around when Trevor had passed, and the dealer hadn't exactly had a chance to properly introduce himself. However, he had to admit that he was confused, trying to figure out what Har was doing here. Had Diya decided to send her brother to try and get him to eat, thinking that he'd somehow get better results? Head still tilted to one side, Michael then continued, his voice hoarse from lack of use over the last few days, "You're Harland, right? Are you okay? Cause you look kinda... tired." That was fairly rich coming from him at the moment, considering his entire being seemed to just radiate exhausted. However, he couldn't help being a little awkward. What was one supposed to say when a stranger came to your doorstep with a gift basket, especially only a few days after your husband had died?

— Reggan