#dj will answer | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ramp-it-up · 1 year

Text

Doctor and Mr. Cavill

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Veterinarian!Reader

Word Count: 5.9K 😓.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. SMUT, Explicit description of graphic sex. Read at your own risk. Dog in distress. Angst, pining, flirting, nerd activities, Marvel vs. DC, brat behavior, dirty talk, size kink, oral sex, raw p in v (wrap before you tap) pulling out, cum play. Not Beta’d. All errors my own.

A/N: This is in response to an ask from @notmyfault404 about Kal’s favorite Veterinarian, nerd activities and Henry. This story sucked me in. Let me know if you liked it!

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

The film production came to town at the end of summer, buying the now defunct airport for a production studio and moving scores of staff into town. The uptick in your business was the first indication that your life was going to change.

The production meant two years of publicity and economic prosperity for your town. It was exciting. And the fact that Henry Cavill was the lead in the production was no small news item.

Sightings at the grocery store, on the running trails, at GNC were all everyone could talk about, but you didn’t have time for all that. You had a business to run.

You got busier, with production increasing the population of the town by over 200 people. Including the talent, Everyone was buzzing with the fact that Henry rented a house out on State Route 60, not too far from your own.

You weren’t that pressed. Sure, he was fine as hell, but he was probably a jackass and you would probably never run into him.

You were so wrong.

One blustery late fall day, an American Akita was brought into your office by a bystander who found him caught in a bush along a greenway, dirty and covered with brambles.

He was muddy, overexposed and shaky. He was agitated and growling at everyone, until you came near. You gave him a firm command.

“Sit!”

He obeyed immediately and whined, still stressed, but calmer now. You approached him and kneeled, holding out your hand and taking his paw when he offered. You smiled, and he panted in return.

“It’s okay, buddy. Let me help you.”

20 minutes later, you had him on the table in one of your examination rooms

“Now keep still. I know it’s uncomfortable right now, but I’ve got to get you unmatted and then I’ll get you some nice soothing salve for those scratches.”

The dog whined, but stopped fidgeting and stood still, as if he understood what you’d said.

“Good boy!”

The huge animal panted at you and looked as if he smiled, but then whined again as you started detangling and brushing again.

Regina, your nurse, came in and microchipped him, and then turned to you with her mouth wide open when she saw what came back.

“You’ll never believe who this dog’s owner is…”

After you found out about Kal’s parentage, you fed and watered him, cleaned and groomed him, attended to his coat and his scratches and were playing with him when Henry arrived at your office.

“Did you run away Kal? Is he a good dad?”

You leaned over to him conspiratorially.

“I bet he’s not.”

You tutted as you worked on the last bit of matting, soothing hums falling from your lips as you applied the ointment to the lesions on his skin.

“I would take you to my house in a minute, he doesn't deserve you, does he?”

You were concentrating on medicating his leg when you heard a response.

“You’re quite right.”

You looked up at Kal when you heard a deep British voice rumble through you. You slowly turned around and were met with the most beautiful imperfect blue eyes you’d ever seen.

“I don’t deserve him.”

You drew yourself up to your full height, which didn’t stop Henry Cavill from towering over you. Damn.

He seemed huge, tall and burly, hair hidden under a baseball cap, but escaping out of the back into thick curls at his nape. His face was flushed, and his eyes held a look of worry and embarrassment, but held your gaze.

You felt like you were in one of those old romcoms, where the room was spinning around you. You had the urge to dive into his eyes.

“Mr. Cavill? I’m Dr. Y/LN.”

Henry’s smile widened and he extended his hand. You looked at it as if it were a fish. You were flustered. He was even more beautiful in person.

You reached for his hand and then stopped, awkwardly.

“Gloves,” came your reply as you held up your hands.

Henry dropped his own hand, as awkwardly as you. Your stomach tumbled.

“I’m Henry. Cavill.”

“Yes,” was all you could say. You knew who he was.

“Mr. Cavill. Kal is fine, but he was exposed to the elements for quite a while.”

Henry had a stricken look on his face.

“Believe me, Dr. Y/LN. I have been distressed with worry for about 14 hours now. Kal and I went running yesterday evening and he saw and chased a squirrel. He wouldn’t respond and I couldn’t find him. I feared the worst all night…”

Henry paused, trying to compose himself. You saw his emotion and you heard his voice crack and you softened, all over. You should really stop staring.

“That is unfortunate, but luckily someone found him and brought him in…”

You found yourself suddenly at a loss for words.

“Yes.”

Henry smiled, a genuine, shy smile.

“And it seems you are taking expert care of him.”

Kal whined and you tore your eyes away from his owner.

“Hey buddy. Yeah. I’m almost done, just gotta get this paw...”

You smiled at Kal and turned to Kal to continue your work, smiling at Henry over your shoulder.

Henry watched you with his dog and his heart melted. You were gentle, kind, and caring. And that voice. Your sultry tones were soothing, not just to Kal. You were calming Henry’s nerves.

Henry didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t you.

Somehow he was expecting a veterinarian to be someone not quite so lovely. His heart was already racing, but when he saw you he swore that it skipped a beat.

Henry was transfixed with you, his eyes searching for a glimpse of your body beneath your white coat. He ascertained generous curves and found himself quite pleased.

As you turned around and caught him staring, he remembered Kal.

“Mr. Cavill!”

Henry startled and turned red as a bashful smile graced his handsome face.

“Y-yes?”

He seemed flustered and awkward, but he was also a highly trained actor. You resisted any benevolent thoughts as you handed him a couple of tubes of salve and reminded him of the routines to make sure that Kal healed properly.

“Thank you Dr. Y/LN. Thank you for taking care of Kal …”

“No need for thanks. It’s what we do here.”

“Well…Excellent!”

Henry graced you with that beautiful smile and you wanted to melt, but you stayed strong.

You two stared at one another until Kal whined. You released him from the grooming lead and Henry prompted him to jump down from the table.

You watched, your heart warming to the sight of Henry practically rolling on the floor with his pup. You could watch the scene forever, but you had work to do.

“Mr. Cavill.”

“Yes.”

Those bewitching blues looked up at you. You held in a gasp as Henry sat on one knee at your feet with Kal. It was quite unnerving for some reason. You cleared your throat.

“I have another patient I need to see in this room.”

Henry was deep in thought after you kicked him out of your office. He couldn’t get you out of his head. He walked slowly to his car with Kal, almost turning around and back into your office when his phone buzzed. It was his agent.

Thoughts of you were pushed aside as he answered the phone.

Two weeks later, you entered your exam room looking down at the patient chart with no other warning than a smirking Regina who handed the clipboard to you.

You were greeted by a big handsome brute.

And his dog.

“Kal!”

You were assaulted by licks and jumps when you got near him.

“Down, boy, sorry, Doc. Kal! That’s no way to behave.”

Henry took Kal’s collar in hand to get him off of you, but he was ignored while you laughed and hugged the dog. Soon, he obeyed Henry and sat down on the table, smiling at you and thumping his huge tail.

Speaking of huge, you noticed Henry’s hands. They were large, with thick fingers and pronounced veins which extended down his thick forearms. His muscles were flexing from the effort to restrain Kal, but Henry’s face was serene.

And staring directly at you.

You cleared your throat.

“What are we here for this time?”

Your saucy raised eyebrow did things to Henry, he decided. He’d been thinking about you ever since that first time and he was intrigued by you.

“Our visit today is two-fold. Kal needs his yearly shots. We’re in the states for the next few months filming and you took such good care of him last time… well, I’d like you to be his veterinarian while we’re here.”

You grinned at Henry, and he paused, blinking at you as if in shock. He wanted to make you smile forever. You cocked your head at him.

“And two?”

“What?”

Henry was outright flustered. You chuckled.

“What’s the second reason that you’re here?”

“Yes! Right! I want to thank you for taking care of Kal. How about I take you to lunch as a way to express my gratitude?”

You frowned and Henry’s stomach dropped as you appeared to have eaten something sour. He knew he shouldn’t have tried it.

“I’m trying to think of a reason not to…”

You looked up at him with those big doe eyes and Henry turned to mush. Then he recovered and smiled, giving his best rake performance.

“Well, if you’re thinking anything about Dr/Patient ethics, I’m not your patient. Kal is.”

Henry hadn’t had to pursue like this in quite a while. It was refreshing.

You finally smiled as you prepared to counter his argument.

“But in a veterinary practice, an animal’s owner is a client.”

“Dr. Y/LN, it’s just lunch. Nothing more.”

“Really?”

“Really. It’s just a thank you. No funny business.”

Henry held his hands up so as to indicate he wouldn’t touch you. Why were you disappointed?

You avoided Henry’s eyes as you opened the door and called for Regina to set up the shots. Henry took the chance to subtly check you out again, making sure to have his eyes elsewhere when you turned back around.

“When did you want to go out to lunch, Mr. Cavill?”

Henry shook his head and chuckled.

“Henry. Call me Henry. Dr. Y/LN.”

He waited for you to offer your first name to him, although he could read it on the diploma on the wall. When you just smiled, he just shook his head again.

“I was thinking today.”

“I– I – ummmmm…”

“Your nurse, Regina is it? Regina told me you hadn’t eaten yet.”

Henry raised his eyebrow and looked at his watch. You couldn't help but notice the veins in his arm.

“It is 1:28 pm and you haven’t had anything to eat today except coffee.” He looked at you as if you were in trouble, but that would have been too familiar. Henry was quite displeased that you weren’t caring for yourself, but he didn’t dare say it. He hardly knew you. This wild urge to take care of you was unexpected.

“Regina cleared your afternoon.”

“Did she now?”

You went to the door and called for her. Regina appeared as if she were close by, with the shots prepared on a tray.

“Here are Kal’s shots, Doc. And I’ve rescheduled your appointments for your lunch date.”

You scowled at her and she smiled brightly as she pushed you back into the room by the tray. You would take care of her later.

You turned around and went to wash your hands and put on your gloves. You sighed and decided to go with the flow.

“How about Dave and Buster’s?”

Henry looked nonplussed.

“Do Buster and David serve good healthful food?”

“No,” you grinned.

An hour and a half later, after dropping Kal at Henry’s place and a lunch of ribs, wings, and nachos, you and Henry were having the time of your life playing giant electronic Connect Four. When you beat him the third time, he pulled you away and started browsing the games.

The darkness of the arcade, and the fact that it was 3 pm on a Tuesday, made it easy for Henry to not be recognized. His ball cap was quite the disguise.

“Rampage!” Henry yelled like a kid. “No wayyyy! I used to love this. One of Midway’s best games.”

You gaped at him.

“Oh Come on. I’m a massive nerd. I love stuff like this. We have to play!”

You just laughed.

“A man after my own heart! I’ll play you, but we have to scope out the other games. You have to have a plan for your game play.”

Henry stopped when you said he was after your heart. He knew it was a figure of speech, but he decided it was not an untruth. He cleared his throat.

“Right. Seems you’re a bit of a nerd yourself, Dr. Y/LN.”

You grinned.

“You should see my comic book collection.”

Henry’s heart surged, that was so fucking sexy. You out of your doctor’s coat was also damned attractive, and he was about to say so when he saw his face on an arcade game.

You two stood in front of Injustice, a game that had many of the DC Superheroes and Villains illustrated on it. You and Henry stared at each other.

“I dare you.”

Henry never backed down from a dare.

“Challenge accepted, Doctor.”

It was on.

—

It was basically dinner time when Henry dropped you back at the office, but you weren’t mad. You shivered at the cold and pulled your jacket around yourself. Henry wanted to pull you into his arms for warmth, but this wasn’t that kind of date.

You smiled that smile at him.

“That was a great lunch, but you lied.”

Henry looked so cute with the frown on his face.

“That was funny business. I haven't laughed like that in a long time. I had a ball.”

Henry was relieved and followed you as you turned and went to your car.

“I’m very glad. You ate something and had some fun. Splendid.”

You were trapped between Henry and your car as he beamed down at you. This feeling could not be denied, you realized with dismay. But you were going to try with all your might. Henry was only temporary. He was probably just searching for comfort near set. You needed to guard your heart.

“Well, have a good evening, Henry.”

You reached for your door handle. Henry backed up to let you open it.

You got into the driver’s seat.

“Perhaps we can do this again sometime, Doctor.”

You just smiled at him and said, “Good night, Mr. Cavill.”

Then you closed your door, started the car, and pulling away, Henry realized that he didn’t get your number as he’d planned.

“Call me Henry!”

He shouted at your taillights.

This was getting inconvenient.

A week after your lunch, you’d taken to having nightly dreams of Henry, and it just wouldn’t do. You woke up in the middle of the night with your clit pounding and you’d worn out the batteries of your wand, knowing it would be a poor substitute for the man from Jersey.

You had to get Henry Cavill out of your head. Work. That was the answer.

You walked past Regina’s desk around 11:30 and didn’t realize she wore that smirk until you turned the doorknob to the examination room.

“Shit!”

You cursed under your breath as you opened the door to Kal’s bark.

Henry stopped mid-pace when you did so. His eyes looked a little wild, just like the first time you’d met, but there was a difference now.

The difference was that Henry was distracted by need, not worry. He’d thought about you every waking moment, and woke up with a stiff reminder of his dreams every morning. He needed more of you, or to be in detox.

“Mr. Cavill.”

Henry's jaw clenched at your continued insistence at the formality. Your core clenched in turn. You were in danger. You moved to pet Kal, seeking him to be your protector.

“Dr. Y/LN.”

Henry’s deep voice was gravelly and you tried not to gravitate nearer to him.

“We’re here today because it is a bit of an emergency. I’m headed to Britain for a couple of weeks this weekend, and I need boarding for Kal. Beginning Friday? Regina said that you had facilities?”

You really needed to talk to your meddling nurse. But you looked down at Kal who started to lick your face. You could not say no. You went over to your computer.

“I’ll check the boarding schedule. I’m sure we have room…”

You opened your laptop and pulled up the schedule. Then you frowned, your eyes flicked over to Henry, then back at the screen.

You looked so adorable as you bit your lip. Then you huffed, seemingly miffed at what you saw.

What Henry saw was a little bit of the brat. And that made his cock a little stiff so that he had to shift his stance. That’s it, he decided. He needed to tame you.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cavill. It seems we are booked up this weekend, but we will have an opening on the following Monday…”

“Please, call me Henry.”

He was begging now.

You took him in as your nipples got hard. His beauty was no question, his eyes, his hair. It was left out today, the curls unruly as he swiped his hand through them, thinking.

“Well, I… I’ll have to find another arrangement. My flight is commercial and leaves early Saturday morning, else I would take him with.”

Henry looked at you with sad eyes and so did Kal.

“Could you recommend?”

Yours was the best facility within 50 miles. You sighed and couldn’t believe what you were about to say.

“I can keep him at my home Mr… Henry. Just for the weekend. I have lots of land off of Route 60.”

Henry’s eyebrow raised when you mentioned where you lived. He lived on Route 60. You continued.

“Kal will have lots of room. And I’ll bring him with me to work on Monday…”

Henry moved into your space impetuously. You stood your ground, however.

“Splendid!”

You stared up at him, unconsciously biting your lip. The energy between you intensified. It seemed natural to go on tiptoe and reach up to brush the hair that fell into his eyes.

But you didn’t.

“Well, Kal is such a handsome boy, how could I say no to him?”

You looked into Kal’s eyes and petted him. The loving way you looked at his dog made Henry a little bit jealous. He surprised himself.

“Can I have…”

Henry’s voice was now impossibly a bit deeper, and needy. You sighed, and Henry wanted to claim those lips. He thought that outrageous, but this attraction between you was undeniable.

“...Your number and address. I can bring him to your place Friday evening. My flight leaves at 5 am to New York Saturday for my long business layover. Then the red eye that evening to London. I wouldn’t want to wake you up in the middle of the night…”

Henry was thinking just the opposite as he smiled down at you. He’d love to wake you up. And you were thinking the same thing.

Your first instinct was to tell him that he could bring Kal by the office and you would take him home with you, boundaries. But you were exhausted of running from this feeling. Henry gazed at you hopefully and it was your turn to be flustered.

You held out your hand, palm up.

Henry, non-plussed, took your hand awkwardly and grinned, thrilled at the chance to touch you. You laughed, a melody to his ears, as you shook your head and said,

“Give me your phone, Henry”

Henry blushed at your gentle command, released your hand, and pulled out his phone while shaking his head at himself. His grin was the greatest thing ever, and the curls falling forward into his face were a distraction.

He handed his phone to you and you took it, concentrating as you entered your information, feeling his eyes on you. When you gave it back, he looked at your number and address like it was a newfound treasure.

“Thank you. I can’t tell you what this means to me… to us. Isn’t that right, Kal.”

You both looked over to Kal, who barked.

“What time should I bring him by?”

You looked up and thought. You were so damn cute to Henry.

“Well, we close early on Fridays. 2 pm. You could bring him by 3?”

Henry thought for a moment.

“Perfect.”

He was looking at your lips.

“We’ll see you then. Doctor.”

The title was beginning to feel like an endearment. You didn’t wipe the smile off your face for the rest of the day, despite Regina’s side eyes.

——

You don’t know why you were nervous. It was a simple thing really. Just Superman dropping off his dog at your house. No biggie.

You heard Henry’s car on your gravel driveway and went out on your porch

Henry marveled at your place. He got out of the car looking around appreciatively as he got Kal and his gear out of the SUV. You led him to the fence line behind the house.

“You can take him off the leash. Back here he has room to run free.”

Henry did so and Kal immediately took off and galavanted around your animals there. He was cozying up to one of your rescued alpacas as you and Henry watched.

“This place is… there are no words.”

You flushed.

“It’s my childhood home. My dad was the town vet before me, and I think he loved animals more than I do. I grew up thinking he was Dr. Doolittle.”

You became wistful with memories. Then you looked at Henry, bowling him over. His heart was taken in that moment.

“I wanted to be just like him, even when he told me to get out of this town. But I would never leave. He was my hero, a single dad, saving animals. He was my why.”

“Wow. Thank you for sharing.”

You’d never heard Henry’s voice that low. You gave him a small smile.

“He passed away two years ago while I was still in vet school. It was hard.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Henry wanted to take you into his arms.

“Thank you.”

You straightened your spine.

“I’m sure you’re very busy, with the trip and all..”

Henry smiled at you.

“Would you believe that I’m practically ready to go? Fully packed and all.I’m going to grab an early dinner and head to bed.”

You looked at your watch. It was 3:45.

“Can I make you some tea?”

Henry gave you that beautiful grin.

“I’d like nothing more.”

In your kitchen, Henry soon got up from his seat at your kitchen island to help you make proper British tea.

You were laughing and talking as he teased you for being American. It all felt so natural.

“Where are your teaspoons? See, this is what I mean….”

Henry was standing behind you, not looking for spoons at all, but looking at that ass in your casual at-home leggings. Good god you were hot. You shook your head and turned around quickly to find him facing you.

“They’re right- oh!”

You were deliciously in Henry’s space and as you looked up at him something happened and he leaned down to kiss you. It was a quick press of the lips but it previewed so much more.

“I- I’m sorry. That was way too forward-“

Henry was cut off by you jumping up into his arms and wrapping your legs around him as you kissed him back. His surprise turned to passion as he grunted in his throat as he claimed your mouth.

He turned you around and sat your bottom on the island, slotting his hips between your legs, his hands on your sides. The kiss was a feral expression of pent up need that was only interrupted by the whistle of the kettle.

You stopped and laughed, and Henry pulled away to take care of the pot. When he turned back around, you were down from the island and all business again. The mood was lost.

You served the tea as if nothing had happened.

The silence between you two as you drank was big, but thoughtful, not awkward at all. Henry was smirking down into his cup, replaying the kiss in his mind. It was more than he could ever ask for. You, however, were thinking quite the opposite.

You turned to him after you finished your tea and asked, “Want to see my comic book collection?”

10 minutes later, you were upstairs in the comic book room, amid boxes and boxes of classic comic books, the collection started by your father. There were books in every conceivable surface, so you were setting in a bean bag chair while Henry kneeled and flipped through a box of Wolverine comics.

“Holy hell! You have the Wolverine Top Secret #50! Do you know how much this is worth?!?”

Henry was impressed, and so were you.

“Not really. But I’m intrigued that you are so into a Marvel book, i would think you would be strictly a DC alcolyte, Man of Steel—“

You gasped.

“Holy shit! I have Superman in my comic book room.”

Henry raised his eyebrow.

“Do you want Superman in your…. nevermind...”

You gaped at him, mouth hinged open at his saucy comment, and Henry was scared that you would kick him out. But you started rolling on the floor laughing instead.

“You’re such a dork, oh my god. ‘Do you want Superman in your…’ hahahaha… that’s what she said… hahahaha…”

Henry laughed too, coming over to tickle you to extend your laughter. It was musical. You two horse played until you weren’t playing any more. You lay beneath Henry, flushed and out of breath and never more beautiful, your shirt halfway up your torso and comic books strewn around you.

He had to kiss you again.

Soon, his mouth strayed from yours to your neck, sloppily marking you up and getting you wet as he rutted against your center. His jeans and your leggings were the only barrier to you full out fucking.

His hand reached under your shirt and you pushed him away, panting as you tried to get your bearings.

Henry was wild, hair in his eyes as he nodded.

“You’re right. Too far. Too much.”

He leaned back on his knees and your eyes raked from his thick thighs to the bulge in his pants to his dilated eyes.

You stood up, still silent and so did Henry, following you out as you straightened your clothes and your hair. You were wrapped in the last string of decorum in you.

Henry ran his hand in his own hair, looking to the side and catching sight of your bedroom. Then he watched your bottom sway in front of him.

“Just want to bite that ass.”

You heard his lewd comment and wheeled around on him on the landing of the stairs.

“What are you doing? What do you want? A fuck buddy while you’re here? Because…”

“Do shut up, Doctor..”

Henry took your head in his hands and leaned in for a kiss, pausing momentarily to look into your eyes. Then Henry destroyed that string of decorum with his kiss.

Somehow, you wound up on your bed, heavy petting like two teenagers, Henry’s hand up your shirt, teasing your nipples.

When he reached for your pants and slipped his thick fingers into your panties and felt your slick, he cursed.

“Fuck, I don’t have any condoms.”

When you arched and moaned when he breached you, and he felt your tight cunt, he licked his lips.

“No matter, won’t be necessary, just let me eat you out. Take all that off.”

You obeyed, buoyed on a cloud of lust.

“Beautiful.”

Henry gazed at you for a minute, and then you reached for his zipper. He let you pull him toward you and start to work it open.

“Ah ah ah. I'm far too hard for that. Let me.”

Henry carefully removed his pants around his massive, hard cock, which made his dark blue boxer briefs even darker at his wet tip. You licked your lips and palmed him over his underwear while looking up at him with those eyes. He knew what you were asking.

“Hmmmmm. I’m going to have to say …no.”

You pouted as Henry chuckled and flipped you over, pulling your hips up so you were on your knees before him. You watched over your shoulder as Henry leaned down to kiss, and then in fact bite, each of your cheeks, rubbing to soothe the sting.

“Oh. If I had more time…”

Henry shook his head and then descended to the valley between, licking a large, rude stripe up the length of you.

“Yes. My dreams, Doctor. This is better than my dreams. Taste like heaven.”

Then he went to town, feasting on you and moaning, rubbing his nose and chin into your folds, sucking your clit, and causing you to grab his head as you came all over his beautiful face.

When you opened your eyes you were on your back, Henry above you, one hand parting your lips again, and another wrapped around the biggest uncut cock you’d ever seen. You gasped when he inserted a finger into you, not realizing how big his hand really was. It made sense now.

“So gorgeous. But, it seems I’m far too big for you. I fear I’d tear you apart.”

You arched, which elicited a moan.

“It’s amazing what a body can do. Why don’t we try, and you could always pull out…”

Henry grunted, climbing up between your legs, led by his dick.

“I’ve decided that’s not a good idea. I’ll just use my hand to finish.”

His smirk said he was teasing, but you were mad. Your pussy clenched, seeking fulfillment, as Henry jacked his cock above it, angry red tip projected now and leaking precum on his fingers.

You whined and writhed beneath him.

“Henry... you can’t do that to me…”

Henry nodded his head, eyes ablaze.

“Yes. It would hurt you too much.”

He was stroking faster now, jaw clenching with restraint.

“No. You can’t show me that magnificent cock and not give it to me.”

Henry groaned and leaned down to kiss you, continuing stroking with his hand. His tip was at your entrance, driving you mad.

“Give it to me…Henry…”

“Such a brat.”

Henry bit your ear and you arched your back as he shoved the tip in. Just the tip.

“Henry!”

“I’m giving you what you want, Doctor…”

His voice was controlled in your ear, but you felt his cock jumping inside you.

“God you feel so….. I need to go travel this silken canal. But you’re so, so tight…”

You rotated and locked your ankles on his back, making him stop and rest his forehead on yours. You both looked down to where you were connected.

“Stretch me out.”

Your plaintive whisper caused his reserve to snap.

“Unnnngh. I’m not strong enough to tame you tonight. I want this.”

Henry started moving, gliding slowly inside you, fucking you open like you’d never been before.

“Hunh, Hunh, Hunh, Hunh…”

You moaned with every inch, the pain a delicious nirvana. You bit Henry’s shoulder until he was fully seated inside.

Henry looked you in your eyes and then closed his and shook his head, as if trying to snap out of a trance.

“You are exquisite, you know that?”

He’s never seen a more beautiful sight than your face when you were full of him. When you shook your head no to his question, Henry started moving.

“We’ll, I'm going to teach you…”

Your fingernails dug into his forearms as he delivered the long strokes which served to short circuit your brain. Sparks were shooting off inside you with every pull and drag of his thick cock along your walls.

When you started moaning with pleasure was when Henry reared up on his knees, pulling your bottom up to rest on his thighs. He held your waist as he pumped inside you, not able to tear his eyes away from his cock destroying you.

The image of a naked Henry just outright fucking you, along with the heavenly way he was delivering the dick made you start cuming. Him just looking at your clit made it start pulsing. Did he really have x-ray vision?

Henry’s mouth hung open at the way your pussy started creaming around him and when he glanced up at your face, well, it was all over for him.

“Cum with me!” he commanded.

When you screamed is when Henry pulled out, pumping his creamy cum all over your torso. The velocity of his spend, the way it sprayed all over your body and reached your open mouth, extended your orgasm and you howled, literally howled.

You licked your lips, tasting him and hummed as your body vibrated down from the clouds. You felt Henry lay down beside you and start drawing his cum around your areola. Your clit jerked your entire body and Henry raised his eyebrow.

“I’m sorry that was so…”

“Amazing, perfect?”

“…Rushed, but next time, I promise you an entire night of delights.”

You shivered at the promise and bit your lip.

“It’s time to get cleaned up.”

Henry was admiring his handiwork all over your body. You felt his cock thicken against your thigh. You couldn’t believe it.

“You need the shower?”

“Later. Now. I’m going to tidy you up a bit.”

And Henry’s lips claimed your breast, along with the rest of your body marked by him.

—-

At midnight, after some more fun in bed and the shower and takeout and more fun and another shower, you grabbed Henry’s sweatshirt and pulled it over your head. The sight of you engulfed in it, and knowing you were naked beneath made Henry want to cancel his flight.

“Can I borrow this?”

Henry chuckled, “Borrow. Right.” Henry grabbed your neck and brought you in for a forehead kiss.

“Let’s trade. A sweatshirt for…”

He held up your still wet panties pulled out of his pocket. You gasped.

“No deal!”

Henry held it above your head as you tried in vain to jump and retrieve your underwear. You knocked him off balance into the couch and somehow wound up straddling his crotch.

Henry grabbed your ass as he felt the heat radiating off you.

“I can’t get enough, and now I have to leave…”

His petulant pout was everything. So you kissed it.

“I’ve reconsidered, your sweatshirt smells like you. When I wake up wet from dreams of you, I want to be enveloped in your scent.”

You were trying very hard to be still, but you felt the bulge in Henry’s jeans get bigger. He brought your panties to his nose.

“My thoughts exactly.”

You started moving on Henry’s lap, your warm wetness seeping through the stiff material to his stiff dick.

“Give me one more thing before you leave.”

Henry’s eyes were dilated, lust blown and beautiful.

“Anything.”

“Your cum down my throat.”

“Christ, Doctor…”

#ask dj #dj will answer #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill smut #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill #henry cavill x black reader #henry cavill x veterinarian!reader #doctor and mr cavill #henry cavill rpf #kal cavill

2K notes · View notes

nasubeenwithcat · 8 months

Note

What if conductor and dj groove switch bodh??

A Golden Holiday in the Hell

DJ Grooves certainly likes the color golden. But not so much that he wants to be a bird with golden feathers. Nonetheless, he became the Conductor one morning. Where is that noisy bird? ＿＿＿＿How cruel is the golden sun without sunglasses?

words:19,000 over (It consists of a total of 8 sections.) Attention:Some grotesque descriptions/vomiting(if you don't like dark descriptions, I recommend skipping section 4)/Machine translation(checked as much as possible, but not perfect.)

What an interesting idea!!! So this is my answer. Sorry, trying to write about them always makes it heavy and dark. But I promise you a happy ending.

1. It was the most violent morning he had ever seen.

DJ Grooves woke up among many blankets. All of the colorful blankets were heavy, thick, fluffy, and had a good to bad feel. He felt suffocated and unconsciously kicked them all off and dropped them all on the floor. He was also sweating. His winter loungewear, which was as thick as the blankets, was deathly hot and annoying.

Winter loungewear? He put his words in his beak again. Winter loungewear. He asked himself if he would have had such a thing, even though there are no seasons on a sunless moon. He thought as he fingered the fluffy fabric. If he thought about it, this mass of blankets, the crazy heat, and the intermittent shaking sensation he'd been experiencing since a few minutes ago were all strange. It's as if he's riding in a car. But the wind doesn't seem to be blowing much. ＿＿＿＿Grooves looked away from the loungewear, and it was only there that he noticed something unusual about the situation.

His perspective was larger than usual.

There were many things that should have been more strange, but that was the first thing he noticed. The blanket seemed bigger and his senses were narrower than usual. Anyway, everything was so big that for a moment he thought he might be wearing glasses or contacts that were too strong for him.

The room, as seen from his position just a little higher than the floor, was filled with all sorts of strange things. There were movie posters in bad taste, stacks of illustrated books, model trains, a small closet, an old TV, a tired one-person sofa, and a few pieces of plain furniture. The strong light streaming in through the window turned them a golden color. The room was supposed to be full of wooden furniture, but everywhere he looked, there was glittering gold. Perhaps it was because the large stand-up wall mirror near the closet reflected the light coming in from the window toward the center of the room, keeping the intensity of the light as it was. And it kept swinging in and out in time with the loud, random rhythm coming from the bottom.

Grooves had no idea where he was, though. All he knew was that it was not the moon, that it was not winter, and that he was in a vehicle of some kind. He lay on the narrow bed, unbuttoning each button that was fastened tightly to his throat, trying to organize his thoughts. But a sound too loud and uninterrupted interrupted his reasoning. Frustrated, he unbuttoned all the buttons as if tearing them off halfway and took off his jacket. ＿＿＿＿As he did so, his eyes were suddenly struck by a golden color that was too strong and unsuitable for this faded room.

What is this?

For a while he just looked at that golden color with an empty head. It was not sunlight or any other transparent thing. It had substance and definite detail. Of course, he could see it whenever he wanted to. The gold that shone in the sunlight was the very feathers of a bird, and they were all over his flippers, neck, belly, and body. They were ticklish to the touch, beautiful but somewhat lack luster. The texture was firm and longer than average. The feathers were golden, not starry white or blue like the summer ocean.

He recovered from his shock and tried desperately to make sense of it. Gold. He loves gold, but he doesn't love it enough to dye all the feathers on his body. He was proud of those cool, fantastically colored feathers that moon penguins had, and he had never thought of ruining them by dying them. Had someone dyed his feathers while he was sleeping, or, as much as he hated to believe it, had he done it himself? For example, what if he never woke up from his drunken stupor last night, and in that foggy state of consciousness, he dyed his own feathers with paint?

He closed his eyes and pressed his ear to the pillow, trying to remember what he did yesterday. Indeed, yesterday he had drunk more than he normally would have. He had a problem at business, and on top of that he didn't handle it well. He made an amazing series of small mistakes that he normally wouldn't make, and even made mistakes in the troublesome interactions that occurred as a result. Not even Grooves himself knew why he made such mistakes. All he knew was that he had been unfocused and distracted at the time, that it had been going on for about a month, that it had finally reached its limit, and that as a result he had made a series of trivial mistakes.

It was not my day, nope. Although those around him ended the day with a bitter smile, at least Grooves was disappointed in himself. It was the first time he realized how inadequate he was as a stardom, that he couldn't even host a TV show, let alone cover. There was no way he could make a movie in such a state, so he came home earlier than usual and ran to the wine cellar as if he were jumping out of his skin. He drank spirits, whiskey, and even a bottle of amaretto, which he did not usually drink, at random. ＿＿＿＿From that point on, he had no memory of what happened after that.

But he clearly remembered drinking a lot of not-so-good liquor with that thought in his head, if only he hadn't been a moon penguin. Grooves opened his eyes. The vibrations that broke through the sheets and shook the pillow were so intense that his chest itched. Had he deliberately, in the heat of his drinking last night, dyed those star-colored feathers, the trademark of moon penguins, a golden color?

It was not out of the realm of possibility. He has plenty of home colorant, although he doesn't use it often because it hurts his feathers and it's cleaner to have it done by a professional. Besides, he had been screwed up and looked crazy last night, so it would not be surprising if he had done such a thing.

"I wouldn't be surprised what I did."

He muttered as if scolding himself. It was only recently that he realized that he was more ambitious than he thought he was. Grooves had made a conscious effort to avoid competitions since he had come to realize that he was a selfish jerk, even willing to kill a child for a trophy. He hadn't made many movies in the past few weeks.

But that does not explain the beauty of these feathers.

The feathers were golden in color, and there was not the slightest indication that they had originally been white or blue. No matter how hard he tried to find a trace of the original color, he could not find any unevenness in the color or any paint residue. From the tip to the root, from the surface to the depths of the fibers, everything was the same golden color. Even if he had made a bath out of paint and soaked it for three hours, he would not have been able to stain it this beautifully.

He got out of bed and walked over to the wall mirror to tried finding a green or ivory color in this strange gold. As expected, he should not have changed to the color of his face, and if he had, it would never be as beautiful a golden as the color of his body. The area near the eyes and beak is sensitive and difficult to dye, even for professionals. If Grooves really did dye all of his feathers himself in a drunken stupor, it can only be described as a miracle or a coincidence. If that is the case, he should not be a DJ or a movie director. He should start studying for his beautician's license.

Grooves got close enough to get a good look at the mirror.

And yet, he was nowhere to be seen.

He reconsidered the possibility that this might not actually be a mirror, but for all intents and purposes, it was a mirror. It was an old design, and the mirror surface was not very well polished, but it was a mirror.

Despite this, DJ Grooves was nowhere to be found. Instead, there is the Conductor. He looked a bit younger looking than in the studio, perhaps because he wasn't wearing a uniform.

Only the space cut into that vertical rectangle seemed to be a virtual reality or something. Grooves raised his right flipper, and the Conductor in the mirror also raised his right hand. When Grooves laughed, the Conductor laughed too. When Grooves jumped, the Conductor jumped too. When Grooves sang, the Conductor opened his beak but did not sing.

He turned his eyes once more to his own body with trepidation. It was still covered in gold. The color of the Conductor's feathers was also like this. A coarse yellow, like a child's raincoat. Now they were glistening golden in the sunlight. When he stroked it, the color of its feathers became even more complicated. ＿＿＿＿Then Grooves spotted it.

It was a hand stroking the feather. It was not a flipper, but a small hand with fingers.

Grooves looked again at the mirror. A startled and frightened-looking the Conductor was looking at him in the exact same pose as Grooves. Is this a mirror? Really? Of course, beyond the shadow of a doubt it is a mirror itself. This is not virtual reality, this is the real thing itself. He ran his hand over his face, intending to touch his little beak, but the protuberance he sought was too big as he expected.

"AAAAAAHH!!"

Grooves screamed and backed away to get away from the little hand. The shaking of the room did not relent, and a large tilt to the right sent him tumbling. His body swung backward and hit a dirty wall near the window. The impact caused some of the pictures on the wall to fall to the floor. From there, the view outside was easy to see. Gold. It was gold. Gold as fine and rich as this feather, and it went on as far as the eye could see. Desert. His room was running in the desert, that's why it was so hot.

He was so confused he couldn't think about anything, didn't want to think about anything. He abandoned himself and stood there for a good ten minutes with the desert in front of him. Every now and then he saw a green cactus or a large brown rock, but the color didn't really matter. The sun was shining on them, overriding their colors and making them look golden. He tried to put his hand on the window with his small, sticking fingers, but it was too hot to touch for even a second. The pain proved that this was no dream.

"No way," Grooves mumbled, trying to calm down. "It's not true." But the voice was unmistakably not his.

The room shook again, and his body was once again pressed against the window area. From there he could see the too-strong light, the dead desert full of life, and steel. Grooves was almost fully aware of what had happened to him enough to realize that it was the railroad tracks, but he refused to admit it.

Train. The Owl Express. He laughed bitterly. The posters all over the room were of movies featuring the train. The annoying noise must be the wheels rubbing against the tracks. That's why the vibration is so intense. He had never been on a train, did not know what it sounded like, or how it shook. He had seen them, but they always seemed to stop uncomfortably on the tracks. He had never known it to move so violently, so he stared blankly outside, feeling betrayed and hopeless. Abruptly, the Owl Express entered a tunnel. The windows, which had been full of light earlier, darkened instantly.

His face reflected in the car window, staring sadly at Grooves. He wanted to say sarcastically, "Darling, you can make a face like that," but he couldn't speak. His nose was pinched, his chest was blocked, and his throat was sour. He wanted to blame it all on someone else, but who was to blame? He sat curled up in the corner of the room and stared listlessly at the wall mirror. The Conductor was there. And he too was looking at Grooves with a look of despair on his face.

2. "Why is this happening to me?"

He muttered again over the noise. "…Why is this happening to me?" It was obvious it wasn't his own voice, and it sounded familiar. It was that vile, ugly voice that always criticized and laughed at Grooves. His voice sounded somewhat peculiar, perhaps due to his profession, and it was easy to hear it through the noise. Grooves frowned and thought about pretending he had not noticed the possibility. But of course, he couldn't do that. He had to face reality. In the end, he went lazily to the sink to get ready for the morning.

A vanity was dull and not very clean. It smelled of mint, but that was all, and other than that, it was horribly empty. Grooves hesitantly looked in the mirror.

There he stood, as expected. He was neither moon penguin nor musician, but the Conductor of the Owl Express. His stand ears, tiny fingers, golden feathers, and large beak were all Grooves' now. The Conductor also looked at him with a somewhat awkward expression, which annoyed him.

He had lived his whole life thinking that he would never want to be a bird like the Conductor, and yet there he was, literally there, being the Conductor. Grooves tapped the edge of the vanity with his usual habit. He was even more depressed when he heard the sound of his nails, sharper than usual, i.e., hard instead of soft flippers, hitting the china. He could never scratch a disc with his hands like this. It would require a much different technique than playing with his flippers.

DJ Grooves fearfully touched his face. He looked in the mirror and gently stroked his beak to see if it moved properly. Every time he moved, the golden feathers rubbed against each other, making a soft sound. But as he felt earlier, it was not as smooth as it looked, and it was dry in places. His feathers were in such poor condition that one could tell just by touching them that his cuticles were ruffled. That also irritated him.

Grooves opened every drawer and door on the vanity, looking for a hairbrush, lotion, or treatment. It would take his mind off his bad mood, he thought, and it would be a waste of all those shiny, beautiful colors. He must have neglected his feathers for a month or so.

Appearance is a mirror. It's not about checking one's appearance in a mirror; it's a mirror in itself. Grooves took care and believed in not acting contrary to that statement. He woke up early in the morning and carefully brushed his hair, always making sure that the strands were facing the same direction. He would also use lotion and, depending on the day, he would sometimes put a highlight powder on his face to make it look brighter. At night, he washes his hair thoroughly and dries it carefully in the correct order, and he also massages his facial muscles every day without fail. So he naturally assumed that this deserted vanity should at least have sunscreen, if not an out-bath treatment.

But there was none of that. All there was was a stock of toothbrushes, an old hairbrush, and feather cream. He checked the bathroom to see if there might be more, but only shampoo and body soap were lined up there.

Grooves gently closed the door under his breath. And the fact was so shocking that he was able to forget for a moment the frustration and sadness that he had become the Conductor. How could he work in the desert and not have sunscreen? Surely he doesn't know that ultraviolet rays are bad for himself? Grooves puts sunscreen on his entire body every day, wears sunglasses, and takes great care not to be in the sun for more than an hour, so why wouldn't he do that? And why didn't he even try to get a full line of feather care products in the first place? No face packs, no oils, and the only cream that was available was too soft and obviously not matched the nature of his feathers. He had to choose something firmer than that, or it would mix with the oil and sweat and cause his feathers to become tattered.

He stared at the Conductor in the mirror. (Naturally, the Conductor stared at Grooves, too.)

Grooves sighed to let his anger escape into the air and opened a nearby drawer almost unconsciously, hoping to find some face wash or lotion in there, even though he had just checked to make sure there was nothing in there. Then, seeing the blank again, he snapped his beak nervously and picked up an old, large hairbrush instead of yelling at it. The hairbrush was well used and looked like it needed to be replaced soon. It was tangled with yellow feathers and dust, and he exhaled several times while he used it to orient the feathers.

But the problems did not end there. He opened the heavy wooden closet to change his mind about the grooming, which had finished much earlier than usual. Even there he had to be surprised.

There were no clothes in it except work clothes and a ceremonial suit. There were just thirty shirts of the same color and shape, ten pairs of black, unplayful pants, three plain purple ties, two large uniform coats, and one fine but old-fashioned jacket hanging there. Grooves struggled in and out of the closet for about ten minutes, rummaging through the clothes, trying to find another outfit. If anything, he searched every inch of the room, thinking that this was a work closet and that his personal closet might be separate. But there was no other storage furniture that looked like this one.

Once again, Grooves stepped back and looked at it. Nothing but black, white, and purple. There is always the shadow of the conductor there. Not his own, but the professional atmosphere was too much dwelling there. Did he not think it strange? It is crazy to have only uniforms. The Conductor can only be the conductor, and besides, he is not allowed any other choice in this closet. He can't even get off the train as a single owl. It is too grotesque. He couldn't hold back and looked away.

"He must be… sick."

To DJ Grooves, all he could think of was the Conductor was sick.

Grooves spent a good 30 minutes or more just putting on the uniform. He had to tie and untie his tie several times because he couldn't bear to see himself in the mirror looking more and more like the bird he hated. When it was finally over, his face was not at all radiant. Finally, he decided to wear only a plain white shirt and suspenders pants, coat unbuttoned, and no tie, so that he would not look like the Conductor. He did not want to trample on the classics, but he was even more reluctant to be the Conductor himself. He opened two buttons at the neck of his shirt and looked in the mirror again. It was definitely the Conductor, but he was glad he was not dressed like him. The weight of his heavy coat felt awfully lifelike.

Still, how could he have to wear such a thick coat on such a hot day? Grooves fanned himself with a stack of papers lying nearby. (The coat was filled with all sorts of things, and he wasn't sure what he needed for his tasks. Perhaps this was something he had to wear, and Grooves ended up putting his arm through the sleeves of it after some hesitation.) There is something strange about the Conductor. He wears this coat in summer and winter alike. Grooves had thought that he had both a thin coat for summer and a thick coat for winter, and that he wore them differently depending on the weather, but this was not the case. Both coats are for winter. It is not a hassle to wear such a thing in the desert in the middle of summer. He wondered over his breakfast coffee if there was some reason why he had to wear them, but he had no idea.

The Conductor didn't spend any money on grooming, but he kept only the finest coffee beans in his kitchen. From instant latte's to real coffee beans, there was plenty of coffee lined up in the dimly lit pantry. If anything, there was even a moon-brand one. The beans are famous for their savory, rich, and slightly bitter taste.

It felt kind of weird to drink the same coffee he had as DJ Grooves at his home on the moon as the Conductor on the Owl Express in the middle of the desert. Still, the hateful thing was that this coffee was as excellent as drinking anywhere else. The coffee's unique aroma wafted up from the mug and tickled his nose and tongue. It was hard to get a drink out of his big beak.

So slowly, still somewhat unable to believe that this was real, he took his second drink, then heard a discreet knock at the small door at the rear of the train.

"Conductor? Are you all right?"

The voice was probably an owl, but who could it be? Did the Conductor have an appointment with him? Grooves tried to look at the clock, but there was no clock anywhere in the room. He was not familiar with the Conductor's job, but he knew that he was supposed to keep time. It would be impossible for him not to have a clock anywhere in his room, but no matter where he looked, he could not find a single wall clock, table clock, or anything of the sort. He gave up and went to unlock the door.

"Come in." "Oh good, you're awake. Good morning." "Morning, darling."

The owl's face hardened. "…… Excuse me?" Grooves realized his mistake a little too late and hastily corrected himself. "＿＿＿＿Not you! I was talking to the vase over there." The flowers in the vase were completely withered from overwatering. "Oh, I see……Of course, uhh, I'm- sorry."

The express owl that came to visit the Conductor left a bitter smile on his face and strode off without saying what the requirements were. Having made a mistake from the start, Grooves dejectedly gulped down the remaining coffee in his mug in one gulp.

3. A few minutes later, Grooves rushed to the coach having a pair of scissors instead of coffee. It was because as soon as he finished his conversation with that owl, he noticed an old pocket watch in his coat's right pocket.

The watch was pointing to eight o'clock, and it was almost certain from that owl's reaction that the time probably represented a delay for the Conductor. He had not been told what kind of work the Conductor was doing or what his time schedule was, but he at least understood that it was not to have coffee in his room. He hurriedly searched the room for anything that might give him a clue to deduce his work, but there was nothing, really nothing. The only thing he could learn from that room was how lazy and eccentric the bird called the Conductor was. Nevertheless, the long hand that was pointing to eight o'clock had moved ten centimeters from zero, so Grooves had no choice but to give up and leave the golden room.

His pockets were filled with so many other things besides his pocket watch. A smartphone which is quite small compared to Grooves', a few caramels, a staple-like machine (it is called a scissor), a crumpled movie ticket, a stiff handkerchief, a thin notepad, a bunch of keys, a whistle, a card case, and, he did not know why, a ball that fits his hand size well. He tapped and turned his pockets on the way to the coach, thoroughly examining them for anything that would reveal his schedule. And still there was nothing. Grooves wondered how the Conductor kept track of his schedule. He would have no secretary or manager. If there was a possibility, the answer was in his smartphone. But he couldn't use it because he didn't know the password. He thought about putting in his birthday, but he had never been given by him such a thing.

Opening the sliding doors, he saw that the quiet coach was not full of passengers. There were at most five owls in the thirteen pairs of seats lined up in a row, eating toast, reading the newspaper, and doing what they wanted to do. He was relieved to find that no one seemed to be paying much attention to the Conductor's, (in the other word Grooves'), mistake.

He used a pair of scissors to punch a hole in a piece of paper he had torn out of the notepad, and checked it again to see how it was used. There were some scribbles on the notepad, but most of them were too smeared to be decipherable. There were glimpses of something about submitting an alternative to the McGuffin by the end of the day, something 'sparkling and easy to understand(peck neck!)', and so on. His sponsors, it seems, are a bunch of showy, tiresome birds. This suggests that the Conductor reluctantly decided to change the McGuffin alone because they didn't like the storyline of his movie. Grooves suddenly remembered the two movies that Conductor had entered in the 43rd Annual Bird Movie Award. That beautiful time pieces that were the centerpiece of the movies. When he first saw that one, and when he realized that the Conductor would be using it, he felt a strong sense of discomfort. He didn't expect that a bird who loves antiques would choose such a thing as a prop. Grooves thought the Conductor must have copied his idea.

But maybe this was the reason. ＿＿＿＿It's too late to know now. Even though no one knows if this is true or not.

The yellow owl closed his notepad and, in a somewhat nervous voice, addressed them, "Please have your tickets ready."

Hearing this, the majority of the owls put out their own tickets on the desk without even looking at the Conductor. There was a distinction on the tickets between those with berths and those without, but Grooves was too busy punching them in silently to let them know he was upset to worry about such things. Totally inefficient, he complained in his mind. On the Metro, the machines would do everything for him, but on this train, he had to do it all by hand. He wondered if he was really doing his job well.

"Where's your ticket? Put it out quickly."

Finally it was the turn of the owl seated at the far end of the table, but he had nothing on the table. Grooves got impatient and asked one more time, with a stronger tone, "Where's your ticket?" "I don't have it," the owl looked up at Grooves with tears in his eyes. "I think I might have dropped it."

Grooves, still holding the scissors, blanked out, not knowing what to say to this owl, what action he should take, or how the Conductor would handle a situation like this in the first place. Grooves had never ridden the Owl Express before. It was his first ride, and he was suddenly substituting for the Conductor. He only knew about ticket collection because the Conductor had done it in the movie. What will happen to a passenger when the ticket is lost? Can he get a ticket, or is the rule that this owl is to be dropped off at the next station? The latter seemed different. It mean that he could ride for one station without paying. Then maybe he should be allowed to hand over the ticket. If only he could find that ticket. He was at a loss for a reply and could only say, "I see." His attitude was rather brusque and unreliable, and the fact that the Conductor of the Owl Express said so and took no action made the poor owl even more frightened.

"Let me, uh, …let me buy a ticket." "Oh, yeah. Of course."

Grooves, as if to cover his nervous, re-counted the money he had received from the owl and shoved it into his pocket. He wasn't sure if there was any change he needed to return to the owl, but he decided to trust that the owl would naturally point it out if he needed to do so.

And the ticket. He had to give the owl a ticket, but he had no idea where to find one. The yellow owl searched madly in his pockets for a ticket. The coarse handkerchief was all tangled up in his feathers, and the important rectangular piece of paper did not catch on his fingers at all.

"Where do you plan to go from here today?" "Uh, Dead Bird Station." "…Okay."

The small talk was not tongue-tied enough, and Grooves blinked a few times, finding it hard to breathe. It was not that he had never seen Dead Bird Station before. The only thing he could remember about it was that it was very small and white, and he did not know how to develop a conversation about it. The entire building was pure white, so it reflected the sunlight well, and although it was supposed to be a simple structure, it was extremely painful to the eyes. He didn't even bother to go near the place.

His fingers, slightly moist from sweat, stroked the smooth surface. Finally he remembered the card case. Grooves had not thoroughly checked the inside of that plain white case, come to think of it. He took it out as if praying to God that there might be a ticket in there. The contents were almost empty, but there were three tickets with berths and, miraculously, only one ticket with a regular price left.

"Oh my God," Grooves muttered. Hearing this, the owl became anxious again.

"No?" "No, no, it was the last one. Lucky."

He punched in the ticket and handed it to the passenger.

"I'm sorry. I'll be careful next time." "By all means, darling. No, sorry＿＿＿＿"

He couldn't resist punching himself.

Grooves was walking on the train with a mixture of relief and regret, a feeling of lightness and heaviness that he was not sure what to do with. He was like a tourist who had wandered into a foreign sightseeing spot without a brochure.

He went to the cockpit to find out how much time he had before the next station, but again, he did not get any information about his job. Surprisingly, no password was needed, either because the Conductor had forgotten to lock the cockpit or because he did not usually do so in the first place. The only thing he learned was that the cockpit of the train running in the middle of the desert was surprisingly cold, even for a moon penguin. The train is mechanically controlled, so it must have had to be cooled to increase the efficiency of the energy conversion. He wondered if that was why he always wore such a thick coat, but quickly dismissed the idea. No way he would be here all day long.

Eventually he lost sight of his purpose and was left to explore the train like a child.

The train had many facilities, but they were all nothing special. If someone tried to play billiards on the bumpy train, the cue would move on its own and it would be impossible to play the game, and a sauna could not be entered in such a desert environment, at least for him. There must have been other facilities that should have been installed. An ice cream parlor, a theater room, and so on. He left the locker room. The Conductor had to stay in this place for a long time.＿＿＿＿And he has to make a movie in this boring space.

What a hell, he secretly pitied the Conductor. No matter how much free time he has, he is not even free to go out. He spends his days just walking around on the train and writing movie plots to pass the time. That is why he cannot write any story other than a train western. How could a masterpiece come out of such a life? the Conductor himself may take this hell for granted, or maybe he has given up on escaping, but whatever the case, Grooves thought this environment should be improved.

He should have some time to himself. Then he might be able to make movies other than train westerns, and he might be able to correct some of the terrible prejudice against ＿＿＿＿musicals.

The yellow owl opened every single door, and with each one he grew more convinced that the Owl Express is a terribly dry place, and more pitying about the Conductor who manages it. No mirror ball, not enough space, and far from quiet, all day on such a train. He thought he wouldn't have been able to stand it. On the other hand, a vague feeling grew stronger that he could make this train into something more wonderful and attractive.

If Grooves were the Conductor, and if he had the right to change everything, he would start with his immediate surroundings. He would fill his vanity storage with meaningful stuff and repair this golden feather. He would fill his closet with more fashionable clothes, and the style of those clothes would be trendy. The Conductor should know better the convenience of cool summer jackets. The room would have more subdued white lighting and light-blocking curtains, and the furniture would be replaced with more practical pieces. Only the coffee pantry could stay that way, but the kitchen still has room for improvement. Don't forget to bring some greenery into that deserted, dead room by decorating it with flowers and houseplants.

When it is all over, he will first take plenty of long vacations and go travel to different places. He should get to know and learn more about the world outside of the tracks, not just on them. It is definitely better to have a period of time, at least once a month, to nurture inspiration. Then he will understand that a sci-fi musical is much more artistic than a train western.

With that thought, he suddenly found a bit of enjoyment in the change. He wasn't sure how feasible the idea was, but he thought he should at least change the contents of his closet now. If only he had the time, he would go to a boutique and buy two hands full of summer clothes and a brand new hairbrush. Never had he wished so strongly that he could shop online as he did at this moment. He should have asked the Conductor when his birthday was. Then he could have accessed his digital device.

Grooves walked from door to door, and then, to his surprise, found not a bar, nor a sauna, but a soundproof room. He clapped his hands in delight when he finally realized that he could escape this noisy wheel. He returned his attention from his pleasant fantasy to reality and entered the room with great enthusiasm.

The room was larger than he had expected, with a magnificent grand piano, a conductor's stand, and many chairs surrounding it. He was even gladder when he realized that this was where the express band practiced. When there is an ensemble, a clarinet or a trombone or something would sit on one of these chairs and carefully compose a piece of music. It was a lovely space. It made him happy as a musician to see a cool instrument, no matter how much it was managed by the Conductor of the Owl Express, a rival he hated.

He approached the piano, looked around, and then, curiosity getting the better of him, decided to gently open the lid. Taking off the red felt dust cover, he revealed from underneath the pearly whites of the white keys and the black keys, which were as black as obsidian to all intents and purposes. He unconsciously pressed the key of B. The note that set the standard for everything echoed softly through the room. Interestingly, this piano had lighter keys and softer sound than the one he usually played. The keys had higher steps, perhaps because it was designed to be played with the fingers. He wasn't sure if this was the case with all instruments made by the Owl brand, or if this piano was particularly so, but this fact was too much for him to take in.

DJ Grooves played scales. Playing the piano with his hands instead of his flippers was new and exciting to him. He went with the flow and played a cadenza. The chords sounded pleasant and washed away his anxiety. The chords produced by the soft keys were as clear as a spring river, yet somehow contained a sense of incompleteness. Sunlight, morning, and other such words were appropriate for the sound. It was completely different from the Moon brand pianos, but that was beside the point; this piano was beautiful as an instrument. At the same time, he thought it was unbelievable that this cool piano was on such a boring train.

Grooves settled back in the piano chair, made sure his feet could reach the pedals, and now played a short etude. The piece was designed to practice expressions of dynamics, and he was confident that the etude would be perfect for this soft sound. As he had expected, the piece sounded much prettier played on the Owl's piano than on the Moon brand's, which has a harder sound, for jazz. He got carried away and decided to repeat the etude and play it again with an arrangement. He deconstructed and reassembled the chord progression, adding thickness to the notes with tension chords and arranging the rhythm with staccato and slurs in the main melody. Furthermore, he incorporated syncopation to create a passage that evokes a summer night from a springtime noonday atmosphere.

He could not contain his ideas. Before modulating to the same main key, he remade the chords that made up the main melody into triplets, giving them speed as if they were balls running up a hill. His performance became progressively more grandiose as he added even greater differences in the notes connected by crescendos. He told himself that this piano was made for classical music, where the emphasis is on tone, not jazz, where the emphasis is on arrangement, but he didn't stop. It was fun. Leaving himself to the flow of the sound, he temporarily felt as if he were back in the DJ Grooves, and he forgot that he was on the Owl Express. After a few minutes, his music was finally coming to an end. He did not want to end yet and even considered repeating it again and forcing an extension, but playing with unfamiliar fingers was more strenuous than he had imagined. Gasping for breath, he ended his performance by playing a seventh-degree chord as if punching a key. His fingers and arms ached, and his breathing was a little erratic. He crossed his legs in satisfaction, basking in the afterglow of his performance.

"Bravo!"

but soon it had to be interrupted once by a small clap. Grooves fidgeted and looked for the source of the noise. A lone express owl was standing just behind him, smiling and applauding. His wings were of average length, but his fingers looked a bit long enough to suggest that he might be the owner of this piano. He was so engrossed in his playing that he didn't notice him enter the room. Grooves was surprised, but said "thank you" and answered the applause. His playing has been loved by many audiences before, mostly moon penguins, and as far as he could remember, this was the first time an audience of owls had shouted "bravo!" at him. Music is the best language. Even owls can understand this awesomeness.

He was so happy, in other words, that it was inevitable that he would forget that he was not Grooves right then.

"That was a really great performance, Conductor!"

"＿＿＿＿Oh, thanks……"

The smile dropped from Grooves' face. Conductor. That was it. He was the Conductor, not DJ Grooves, the owl, not the moon penguin. He is not a musician, he is a train conductor. Grooves, a musician, would play as the Conductor who was not a musician by profession. It was only natural an owl who knew nothing about it would react in this way. His mood suddenly plummeted, and the heat that had filled his body quickly dissipated.

"This was the most emotionally rich Op.9 I've ever heard. It's kind of like a very new and beautiful image of a night sparkling with fireflies and starlight, not the soft atmosphere that many pianists play. The interpretation of the tones is careful, and the arrangement is very cool! Besides, your technique is also at a high level. You always seem so busy, when did you learn it?" "Uh, …… when I was a little?" "Woww, why did you keep it a secret? If you are as good as you are, you can be a world-class pianist. In fact, even DJ Grooves would recognize you!" "That's …… umm ……" "Maybe you are better than him. Right? I don't think moon penguin, who makes only loud disco music, can play such delicate music!"

Grooves was speechless with surprise. The good feeling he had had for this owl earlier was completely gone, and instead an unbridled disappointment washed over him. 'only loud disco music'? He wanted to tell the owl that he had just beaten him as a musician by that moon penguin.

But when it came time to say something, he realized he didn't have the right words for it. He had plenty to say as DJ Grooves, but he couldn't find anything to say as the Conductor. It was strange for the Conductor to be defending Grooves. But it was still offensive to have his music mocked by an owl who had nothing to do with it, so in the end he muttered, "I guess not," with some bitterness.

The owl seemed to take that as a sign of modesty or something, and said in a rather gentle voice, "Don't worry about it." No, that's not what he meant, and that's not the reaction he wanted him. It all became too much trouble, and after answering vaguely, he left the room as if to escape.

"Hey, can I listen it again?"

An innocent fan's voice shook Grooves' brain. The yellow owl, completely exhausted, returned to the Conductor's own room and locked the door.

4. Smelling the sand, he collapsed onto the empty bed and tried to empty his head.

He picked up a handful of blankets that had been smashed on the floor and piled them on the bed. Looking at the clock, frighteningly, it was only a little past noon. The Conductor would probably still be working or shooting a movie. Despite this, Grooves didn't want to move. He just wanted to pick up the blankets and not think about anything else. This place is boring and irritating. It was natural for Grooves to feel this way, since the owner of this place thoroughly disliked him, but the difference in environment was too much for the penguin, who was still in shock from being the Conductor.

He closed the lid of his pocket watch. The golden sun, still turning the room and Grooves golden, lit up the dirty watch. The dull metallic sheen reflected an even brighter gold. He sighed. The color was exactly the same as the color reflected on the replicas of the trophies that adorned so many of his rooms. It was exactly the same color as when his accessories or other trophies were reflected on those alloy trophies. That color was Grooves' favorite. It made him feel like he was seeing stars within the stars. It should have been, but he wasn't at all happy to see it anymore.

Maybe it was because he was a yellow owl.

"If…" Grooves muttered. "What if the mistake is never corrected?"

As soon as he realized the possibility, he could clearly feel his heart beating twice as fast. The blood rushed to his head, and he could no longer remain calm. He was thirsty and his eyes should have been able to see clearly, but his brain was not handling it well. A soft blanket slipped from his stiffened fingers and fell to the floor. He bent down to pick it up, but suddenly he felt sick and couldn't reach for the floor. What if he had remained the Conductor? What if he had to live with these golden feathers? What if he had to spend the rest of his life listening to nothing but criticism of himself?

What if he had to fight against himself?

Because it would be. The Conductor has been fighting DJ Grooves for a decade, and it's too late for them to mend their relationship. The reason why DJ Grooves and moon penguins don't like the Conductor and the owls is not because racism, but because they don't try to understand the beauty of his ideas.

The yellow owl involuntarily chewed on the blanket. In doing so, he tried to kill the pressure bubbling deep in his chest. He ate the blanket, struggling to swallow the discomfort that was trying to climb up his esophagus and flood his beak. It was hard and bad. Ridiculous. It's a waste of energy to even think about it. He yelled at himself. "I can definitely get myself back into DJ Grooves, and I will, no matter what."＿＿＿＿

Back to DJ Grooves. Wait, fighting Grooves in the first place is unusual. Unless he has a doppelganger, there is only one DJ Grooves. Rather, in a case like this, he should consider the possibility of him being dead to begin with.

The yellow owl's back bubbled and splashed a little. No, no, no. He stuffed the blanket down his throat and tried to fight the physiological reaction. His beak recognized the strange object and his throat moved fast, and with it, his tonsils began to move wildly. His eyes grew unbearably hot and moist, and then the sun shone on them again, refracted light turning them violently golden, even inside his brain. What would he do then? What if Grooves was dead?

Where was Grooves really last night and what was he doing? All he could remember was that he had been drinking, thinking it would be his last drink, but he ended up drinking until morning. And he had no way to prove it. In fact, if this was a dream that was as close to reality as possible, that would be more convincing than thinking that he had switched places with the Conductor. Or, if it is an afterlife or something, and he is answering the many problems and turning points in his life as DJ Grooves through the perspective of the Conductor.

… It’s just alcohol. But, alcohol.

"No way-" Grooves exclaimed. "I can have stopped it before it happened! I knew I might die!"

He shouted it over and over to reassure himself. But his brain was thinking about something else entirely, and it would not listen to what Grooves said. Wasn't it too rarely to take energy drinks and alcohol at the same time and yet still be alive? Did his body really know, even if his brain did, that the caffeine and alcohol would cancel each other out and he would not be able to get drunk, which would result in him drinking himself to death? Wouldn't he have been drinking anyway, even unconsciously? Couldn't the blood vessels in his brain have swollen, causing him to faint, and then burst, or his brain would have been deprived of oxygen and he would have died? Once he experienced the horror of this firsthand. When he had a niacin flush, his body experienced exactly the same symptoms. His blood warmed up, his brain didn't work properly, and his body turned red and splotchy. It was so hot and scary that he thought he would die if this went on for hours. Their odds of that must be much higher than being the Conductor.

DJ Grooves could have died. Maybe he was still at home, intact, his blood vessels ruptured from too much caffeine and alcohol.

The yellow owl's body trembled. No, I am not. I am DJ Grooves. I am the moon penguin. I am still alive. DJ Grooves is a star. When he dies, it will be in the newspaper…

Maybe no one had noticed. Grooves was drinking at home, not in a fancy bar or anything. And even if a star is found dead, the office will decide when it will be reported by the media. This is because there are too many procedures to be completed, too many business contacts to be contacted, and too many other things to be done, so there is no time to deal with the media or onlookers. Therefore, some procedures must be completed before the public announcement, and then Grooves' death will be reported.

Well, then. Ask him. He hurriedly ran, chewing on the blanket, to the phone. Moving his trembling, heated body, he turned the dial with his fingers, which were not working properly, to DJ Grooves' private number. He held the receiver firmly to his ear and waited to hear Grooves' voice with a clatter.

The bird-anxious melody of "ring, ring, ring" shook Grooves' shoulders. He was about to cry. The receiver trembled and was hard to hold. His jaw ached from the strain of chewing the blanket. He blinked nervously.

Soon nothing was heard.

The strength dropped from the yellow owl's entire body. His stomach instantly heated up and ran down his esophagus. The Conductor vomited. His heart was beating loudly and his body was constantly twitching slightly. All his internal organs were being pulled upward, and strong pressure was taking over. The receiver fell with a loud thud to the floor. Grooves just watched the stark white blanket become stained gold.

The sun quickly lit it up again. Everything inside this train is made of gold. The birds that ride this train, the birds that manage it, the anxiety, anything with color. It is so shimmering that there is no need for a mirror ball.

With the gold he loves.

He shoved the stained blanket into the washing machine, and for a while he continued to wail. The yellow owl shed golden tears unceasingly, sniffing and trying to stifle his voice, but he wasn't quite able to.

Could DJ Grooves dead? A single night's mistake must have killed him? And for some reason, might he have to live again as the Conductor? What a punishment. He punched the golden wall as hard as he could, wanting to take his frustration out on something. But his small fist did not even crack the wall, and the pain only made it heavier. He closed his eyes and howled at the sheer volume of his emotions. Why, why him of all? He was jealous of Grooves, and if no one loved him, he couldn't even take care of himself, a pompous, selfish yellow bird. Every time he thought about it, his head was scratched into a mess. The golden light reflected in his tears turned his brain golden.

He couldn't tell the color of the tomatoes that stained the screen. In fact, it may have been the color of 18-karat gold. It is the gold that seems the most golden. It was the color of that gold that filled his room and ate away and invaded. What color was the wallpaper in his room? He would have made it any color he liked. Then what color did Grooves like? Was it gold, after all? What color was his jacket? What color are his sunglasses? The color of his latest movie posters? The color of his favorite cutlery? The color of his album? What is the color of his piano? What is the color of his phone cover? What is the color of the tomato that stained the screen?

What color are the feathers of moon penguins? What color? ＿＿＿＿What color would they really be?

"Blue……."

Grooves mumbled in a trembling voice. "And white……."

He took several deep breaths and concentrated on regaining his composure. It didn't matter what color he liked. Grooves loves gold, and red, and blue, and white. He just doesn't like silver or bronze, so he wants a gold trophy. He stroked his chest and sang his song in a small, encouraging tone of voice.

He is DJ Grooves. Whether Grooves lived or died, and if he didn't know, he just believed he lives. It is not too late for him to decide what to do with his life after the media reported his death. If he lives, he will return to Grooves someday, and he will prove it. He will play the piano as DJ Grooves, much to the chagrin of that owl.

By the end of the song, Grooves felt a little better and decided to leave this horrid room right away. Something was going to go wrong in there. But he didn't feel like working anymore, and he didn't want to play the piano anymore. What should he do then, he thought as he looked out at the train. Does the Conductor always spend his time feeling this way? He couldn't imagine that a bird living in that creepy room, sleeping and waking up every day, is his rival. If this was the reason he had become so aggressive, he honestly felt sorry for him. The influence of environment on birds is something that cannot be ignored to a large extent. Just like a morning glory that grows easily in the sun cannot even sprout in the shade.

As usual, the outside of the window is full of gold. So much gold, in fact, that it was almost too much. Just as Grooves couldn't eat a hundred tuna sandwiches even if he liked them, he didn't like the color as much at that moment as he did before. Frankly, he wanted to block it out of sight.

"Curtains," he muttered.

Just then a sharp whistle sounded. The windows were now white, the gold gone from the windows. The Owl Express had arrived at Dead Bird Station.

5. He was running through the streets at full speed, fleeing the golden sun.

The heat and glare of the sun were nothing compared to what he felt from the car window. Grooves ran into the mall, out of breath, and took a deep breath in the thick shade. He was shocked to learn that there were places where just walking around would make him suffer, but he couldn't believe that the Conductor had taken no precautions against it. He had no sunscreen, no summer clothes, no handy fan, and no parasol. Grooves had no idea because he had never tried to understand the Conductor or get to know him until now. If worse came to worst, he would die.

If his knowledge is not mistaken, owls also have an inherent preference for cold things like water and ice. They are nocturnal and sensitive to the sun. The desert owls are the only exception, but even they don't imitate walking in the hot sun without a parasol or hat.

Anyway, he had to somehow bring his condition up to the average level. Grooves entered the well air-conditioned mall and quickly searched for a floor map.

There was much to do. First of all he wanted something to replace this heavy, thick, tacky coat. And he have to get good quality, colorful ties. Next things he had to go to the pharmacy and buy lotion, cream, sunscreen, and a parasol. Then he would have to go to the furniture store and buy a comfortable sofa, houseplants, and light-blocking curtains, as well as other things. He wondered how much the total cost would be, but decided not to think about it. The Conductor made Grooves do this. Grooves was doing it for him because the Conductor had neglected the whole thing. If this makeover would allow him to make a decent movie, he would be able to recoup his losses in no time. He walked on with great enthusiasm.

He first visited a boutique that occupied about a quarter of the mall's ground floor. There were about four mannequins in a large glass display, dressed in the style he had expected. As soon as entering the store, he looked through the men's clothing, checked the sizes, elasticity, and thinness of the fabrics, and then put the items in the basket one by one, starting with the ones he liked best. There were no bright colors among the selections, but only monochrome clothes. However, they were not plain, but rather painted or cut in a unique way, with some sort of eye-catching feature. They are easy for beginners to coordinate because they go with basically any color. He tossed the new clothes into the basket again.

Customers and clerks were all owls, as a matter of course, and the clothes on the line were all made by owls for owls. The buttons were much richer in design and variety than those at moon penguins, perhaps because they were designed to be used with fingers, and after 30 minutes in the boutique, Grooves had abandoned his original purpose and was looking at nothing but buttons. There were fabric buttons with tiny sequins sewn all over them that looked like mirror balls, retro wooden buttons that resembled film prints, and simple star-shaped gold buttons. He picked up those samples almost unconsciously. He was pleased to find that there was good stuff in the owl brand. At the same time, it became clear that the owl brand was not the reason the Conductor had such poor taste.

He should definitely buy one of these. Grooves thought as he stared at the modest gold buttons sewn into his coat.

It is understandable that he has to wear this coat because it is his uniform. However, he could not overlook the tatteredness and inconvenience of this coat. A uniform requires a certain degree of non-individuality, but since he is the only one who wears this coat, he should be allowed to wear cufflinks at least. No one would blame him for that, and of course DJ Grooves wouldn't go out of his way to make fun of him or mock him. No matter how much he dislikes him. He wondered if there was a reason why he couldn't, alternating between the buttons and the coat, but quickly reconsidered that there couldn't be. The Conductor is that kind of bird, as far as Grooves knows. He likes to argue and compete with Grooves even when he doesn't have to. There is no deep reason for it, he thought.

He thought for a moment about buying buttons with fancy designs, but after a little consideration, he put them back on the shelf and decided to go with simple, matte black buttons instead. Grooves thought that this would avoid the reflection of the sun on the buttons.

He was about to go to the checkout with his summer casual clothes and a few buttons in his basket, but on his way there he spotted a section with colorful ties. Behind it, he saw a section of shoes. A pair of sneakers with graphic apple dots caught his eye and it pulled his basket. He wandered over and picked up another basket, wondering how many hours it would take at this rate, but still unable to resist his impulse.

Three hours later, Grooves was finally able to leave the boutique and take the escalator. His plan had been to spend about 30 minutes, but there were more choices than he had imagined, and he had completely forgotten about the time. He was supposed to be able to fit his shopping into one small bag, but he already had two of the biggest bags in his hand.

But DJ Grooves was satisfied. He couldn't have been more satisfied. He was happy to finally get out of that heavy uniform and was simply thrilled to be able to wear his new clothes. His new shoes were a little tight, but it was much better than walking through the desert in that horrible outfit. He bumped his heel against the smooth marble floor, enjoying the hard sound it made.

His next stop was the pharmacy on the second floor. He took a shopping cart and hooked his shopping bags onto its handles. Grooves would probably buy a lot of things there, and he knew that if he did, he would not be able to hold the basket with two large bags under his arms.

That was right. He had no idea what brand of owl they were, so he picked them out one by one based on a rough ingredient list and the feel of the testers, but there were so many that the Conductor needed but did not have that he quickly filled up his basket. He took one of the small parasols and carefully placed it on top of the basket, hoping that buying these items would make the sad washbasin smile a little. The parasol with a white sun-exposed side and a black inner side is the most efficient and hardest to tan under. White reflects light and black absorbs light. It would also be more consistent with his casual clothes. While waiting in line at the checkout counter, he placed vitamins and zinc supplements from a nearby shelf into his basket.

"Um, ……are you sure this is all of them?"

The clerk, who just a moment ago had only had to check out a single perfume, looked at the Conductor with a frightened look on his face. The yellow owl asked back, "Do you have something to complain about? The owls lined up behind him let out a collective sigh.

Seeing three large bags hanging from his cart, and seeing that the cart belonged to the Conductor, the passerby owls were naturally curious. Even on the escalator, they often turned and looked up, trying their best to peek at what the Conductor had bought. Grooves secretly muttered to himself, "See? I knew I am doing the right thing." It was nothing short of the end of the life to be so careless about grooming and he could draw attention to himself just by buying a shirt or a parasol.

"What's happened to him, is he brokenhearted?" "It's the opposite, isn't it? He must have met someone..."

Rather, he is not even at that starting point.

But it looked like he no longer had to worry about more shopping bags. Now all he had to do was buy some furniture, and then he would use the delivery service. Grooves didn't know the Conductor's address or even if he lived in a proper house in the first place, but he knew that writing " The Owl Express" or "Dead Bird Studio" would do the trick.

He thought again as he pushed his cart, "what should I buy?" Curtains were absolutely necessary. Any bird would go crazy if it had to look at that glaring sun for hours every day. If he sat on the tattered couch in that hellhole and tried to write a script, everything he wrote would have a bad ending. He sighed as he thought once more of the light that filled that room.

Grooves basically writes his scripts at home, not in the studio. This is because it is the only place where he can relax and not be disturbed. That is why he seriously designs the feel of the furniture, the color of the lighting, and even the paintings on the walls, always keeping the best possible environment for him to show his full potential as a movie director. He has dozens of different types of ink and playlists so that both his writing materials and the music he plays while working can be changed to match the mood of the story. He types up all of his scripts on his computer, but when he wants to check the overall balance or structure of a story, there is no better than analog way to do it. On his desk is a large monitor, a small keyboard, and next to it a big pad of notepaper, a beautiful pen, and a set of colorful inks. ＿＿＿＿How was the Conductor?

He found the store he wanted and he went straight in. Come to think of it, the only thing on the big maple desk was an illustrated book on guns.

He entered the store and headed straight to the curtain section to check out the light-blocking fabric curtains. Grooves did not spend much time on this step. Because the moment he spotted a dark olive curtain, he decided to go for it. It was a simple solid color and less decorative, but he had a sharp intuition that this was the one and that it would be the best, and within seconds he had finished writing the number, length, and number of pieces on the order form.

He ordered a single sofa in the same color and a small low table to match. Unfortunately, he could not buy anything for the kitchen because he did not know what to do with it due to the difference in food culture, but he was able to buy three pieces of beautiful tableware and one set of cutlery. He handed the order form to the counter with a refreshed look on his face: two palm-sized cactus pots, one modern lampshade, and two bookshelves sized to fit nicely in his room space. Hopefully this would clean up the desk. Now the question was whether the Conductor would make good use of them, but he decided to trust that he would take good care of them since they were indeed furniture that had been paid for with his own money.

He wandered around the entire mall, sliding across the floor with his cart, which was now completely heavy. He had generally bought what he wanted to buy, but he felt like he was missing something. Perhaps it wasn't that, he thought, and he was just excited about this situation where he could spend as much of other people's money as he wanted to shop, but that realization did not make this nagging feeling go away.

He casually took out his watch and checked the time. It was already past 6:00 pm. He had been away from the train for about five hours. He was surprised at how quickly the time had flown by. He rested his arm on the cart and tried to remember what he had eaten, other than the coffee he had had in the morning. But he soon remembered that there was no such thing. He hadn't even nibbled on a cookie, let alone eaten a proper lunch of any kind. From the moment he realized this, his tongue gradually became numb and heavy, and he felt as if he were losing strength. He was hungry, he thought grimly, and started pushing the cart again, looking for something to eat.

Although there were many restaurants in the mall, from his cursory glance, they did not look very tasty. Grooves is not a fan of sweet food, nor is he a fan of greasy food. He doesn't like spicy food either, and he can't eat a lot of dry, waterless food. If he has to eat, he will eat, but he has never wanted to eat on his own. Despite this, all the restaurants he could see had that kind of flavor, and most of them were either meat dishes or raspberry parfaits. He tried to read the menu, but he didn't understand anything, so much so that he was surprised that these words even existed as a single word in the first place. He doesn't like oatmeal or lamb. Realizing that he would probably have a hard time finishing eating them, he slouched away from it.

And after unknowingly circling the entire mall in search of food, he finally gave up and left the mall. With both hands full of shopping bags at once, he no longer had any desire to shop for anything. For a brief moment he thought about stopping at a supermarket, but decided to give that up as well. The bags were heavy, he was hungry, and most of all, he was tired. He thought it would probably be faster to eat at the train's cafeteria, so he took out his sunglasses and parasol and turned back the way he came.

It was midsummer but the sun had not yet set, turning the city a golden tint.

6. By the time the Owl Express began its service, he was exhausted. With his cheek pressed against the extremely cold cockpit, he cooled his completely heated body. His body was sticky and limp, and he could have stayed there all night if the vibration hadn't been so bad. The light was coming in through the large window, more copper than gold, and much redder than in the daytime. Knowing that it was already evening, he felt a sense of sadness, whether happy or saddened.

……Come to think of it, where is the Conductor?

He suddenly wondered how his rival was doing. No way was he able to exist as him at this very moment. Conductor is the only bird in the world, and he wished it were so. One bird is enough for such a terrible bird. Leaving aside the question of why such a phenomenon had occurred, he wondered what would happen to birds without their bodies, that is, if they were only conscious, (and he was a little puzzled that the science fiction movie director would think of something so unscientific and occult,) but now his hypothesis was gradually becoming more realistic. If that were to happen, would the bird be unable to wake up? Even if they were awake, they might not be able to feel it. Because the consciousness would not have the sensory organs to receive the five senses. The instinct may go in search of an empty body.

That way they can get up anyway.

Where is the Conductor now? That is, his conscious part. Was he sleeping in this body now? Or was he also spending his time as someone else? Maybe he was on vacation somewhere, or maybe he was on the moon. If there was a bird whose body was taken over by him, he must be a very unlucky bird. If he were them, Grooves would definitely not want to be a part of it, he said, smiling fluently as he sat in the cold, iron cockpit. If he even so much as drops a cigarette butt on the sidewalk, the phones at home and in the office go dead literary. He is being evaluated in real time. No matter how much money he was offered, he could not allow himself to entrust his body to the Conductor under such circumstances.

If he could choose the body of the bird that would take over, who would it be? He thought long and hard as he rested his rounded back against the backrest. What about another moon penguin? It would be interesting to be a moon penguin that wasn't interested in music or show business, he thought. Maybe that type of bird would have something Grooves had cut off, something he couldn't see.

Or, if that bird isn't the Conductor, he can be an owl. With their big feathers, he would like to fly in the cool sky and touch the stars if he could. In reality, it would be difficult because the stars are deathly hot, but there is romance in their feathers. Although he can't like what they like, he is interested in looking at the moon from their point of view.

If he could be anything that wasn't a bird, how about being a mafia? Grooves had never seen or visited their island, but he knew it was famous for its fish. Besides, he had heard that there were many chefs on the island, so he was sure he would be able to eat a lot of delicious dishes there.

And then Grooves suddenly realized a possibility: some birds might want to become DJ Grooves. If there is such a bird, now is the perfect time. His body should be in stasis now, if only he were not dead.……

……Come to think of it, where is the Conductor?

Grooves only hoped that his worst prediction would not come true. He almost fainted at the mere thought of the Conductor living as Grooves in the unlikely event that he did. That bird would definitely do something. Because even in Dead Bird Studio, he couldn't stay still and docile. There is nothing restricting Grooves, in other words, the Conductor, in that wide street right now.

If he causes any problems as Grooves, and then goes back to Grooves himself, it is Grooves, not Conductor, who takes the blame. There is nothing more germane than the entertainment industry on the moon. Worst case scenario, he might not be able to stay a star. The yellow owl felt a chill run down his spine. He wondered if the bird really understood the frustration of having everything he had spent his life accumulating destroyed, not by him, but by someone else. He doubt it. The only thing he had accumulated throughout his life was trophies from movies. He can always get them back.

"When I can't be a star anymore," Grooves muttered out quietly.

In fact, is it really that bad?

Until yesterday, Grooves wanted to quit being a star, which is exactly why he was drinking until he blacked out. Actually, Grooves might want to quit being a star to become a movie director. Even now he continued his contract with Dead Bird Studio as a movie director, but as the Conductor yelled at him one day, he was still DJ Grooves.

In his words, Grooves seems to have mistaken a movie for a music video or something. He blames this on his crew, who treat Grooves as a musician or a star rather than a movie director, and on Grooves himself, who doesn't even try to be anything more than DJ Grooves. At the time, he didn't take this seriously, saying that he didn't want to be told that he was making a movie while operating a train, but it was only recently that he thought that this might be true. Because while the Conductor is a conductor, at least his crew at Dead Bird Studio treats him as a movie director, not as a conductor on the Owl Express. That much, he could tell. Their round, big eyes are just too honest.

Is this an opportunity? Grooves dropped his gaze. His copper-colored feathers were sweating and stiff.

He had thought that when he quit the star, it would be when the moon exploded. But maybe that's not true. Grooves might have already had to retire from show business ten years ago. If he had done so, would he have been able to make better movies? Had he been mistaken about what he was doing for ten years? Was it not simply a matter of skill that he could not beat the Conductor all those years, but because Grooves was the star? If so, it was really a waste of time. As a result, Grooves almost killed a child.＿＿＿＿

At that moment, the phone unexpectedly rang. The yellow owl freaked out and promptly picked up the receiver.

"Hi, Dad."

An exasperated voice over the receiver pricked the Conductor's ears. Grooves replied vaguely, wondering if she is his daughter. She looked so bad from him.

"Why aren't you coming? The kids have been waiting for you all day!" "What about-......?" "What about-......? What's with that reaction? ......Did you forget us?" "No, I mean, that ......."

Grooves tried his best to keep talking, but he felt sick, as if all the water in his body was evaporating as soon as he opened his beak, and in the end he couldn't say anything. The receiver was still angry.

"So you forgot when is their birthday party."

A voice cooler than the one in the cockpit said calmly, with anger inside. "Enough. Have a good day."

With a clang, the phone went dead immediately. Grooves stared at the receiver's speaker, completely lost in thought.

Children, birthday party. 'Why aren't you coming?'

Perhaps it was the birthday of the Conductor's grandchildren, and the Conductor had accepted the invitation. Poor thing, and he felt sorry for the little owl he didn't see. He tried to calm his upset by muttering that he might have been able to attend if the Conductor's calendar had been analog, but of course such a shift in responsibility would not have worked. Had he prepared a gift, or was he going to have one this morning? It was all irrelevant now.

He would have to apologize, he thought as he put the receiver back in its holder. Grooves had caused trouble as the Conductor before the Conductor had caused trouble as Grooves. The same with the birthday party and the performance. That owl still thinks the Conductor is a musician.

He tried again to dial his private phone number, but remembering that didn't work last time, he now dialed his manager's number. This way he would know in one shot whether Grooves was alive or dead. If he was lucky, he might even be able to talk to Grooves.

He put the receiver to his ear again, desperately hoping he would get an answer. If he couldn't get through to this number either, the only number he would have left would be his work number, but as he recalled, he had turned off his phone yesterday while he had been drinking. He hated himself for what he had done last night. Just as he was about to vow never to drink again, the phone finally connected.

"Hello......" "Good, the phone's working, darling＿＿＿＿"

Just as Grooves was about to continue with his second sentence, suddenly a tremendous crash, as if something exploded, hit him in the ear on the radio waves. The yellow owl rushed to pull the receiver away from his ear and shouted, "What's going on?"

"If I knew what was going on, I wouldn't be riding here!" a dirty voice shouted back. From what he could hear, he was crying as he spoke, and occasionally a sniffling sound could be heard. "I don't understand! Who are you anyway?"

"Let me see..." The Yellow Owl was puzzled, wondering whether he should call himself the Conductor or DJ Grooves. The subtle blank spaces were filled with intense sounds and squeals. "What does it matter? What's Grooves doing!"

"He's watching a movie next to me! While he's driving!" "On the road? I heard you got a meeting today!" "How the hell does a stranger know about that, peck neck!"

The manager's shouts became even louder. The painful sound, like a large truck braking sharply, reached Grooves almost as a noise. He has known him for a long time. He had supported Grooves in many ways from the very beginning of Grooves' performing career. But he had never sounded so terrible, and for a moment he wondered if he had dialed the wrong number, but the voice was his.

"I don't know! I really want to go to work!" "Then go!" "He won't let me go!"

He did not say who, but the answer was almost obvious. Maybe Grooves, meaning the Conductor, was driving somewhere with the manager. Grooves still didn't know if the man next to the manager was the Conductor, but Grooves felt almost certain that he was. He tried his best to deduce why the Conductor was driving, but after a minute's thought, he had no idea. In the meantime, he could hear explosions, brakes, wind, squeals, and laughter, one after the other.

"If ye care so much about yer work, go."

Suddenly, a completely new and different voice said as if singing. The distance was far and the voice was low and muffled, making it difficult to hear, but it was clear that it was not the manager's voice.

"I've been telling ye that for a while now. Yer really not groovy." "Then let me go home! Where are we? How long are you going to keep running!?" "Yer a lad of many orders. Why should I, a star, have to pick up and drop off other birds I dinna care about? I'm not a kindergarten bus driver, laddie. Take a walk. Maybe you'll make it in time for work tomorrow." "Quit joking, please! Really, please, go back! Grooves, you're going to get caught if you keep going like this! Do you know what you're doing?" "What is that, a threat? A moon style joke? We're just watching a movie." "Driving under the influence, driving the wrong way, over-speeding, going through all red lights! You just committed four crimes!" "Hmmm...... oh my-, the ashtray is falling!" "Geez! No!!"

Grooves stood there and just listened to the conversation. Crimes? If it was as simple as dropping a cigarette butt, but had the Conductor violated the traffic laws? His mind went blank.

Perhaps the other voice, the one watching the movie, was unmistakably that of DJ Grooves, albeit with a liquor burn. Hearing his own voice from a third-party perspective through TV or radio is a daily occurrence, so it didn't seem too strange to hear his own voice from the phone, but it was still more than a little shocking to hear his own voice saying, "Yer really not groovy."

"If you go home now, I'll forgive you! I'll let bygones be bygones for being AWOL from the radio, for kidnapping me, and for drinking alcohol! Please go home! If you won't do it, All our work will be lost!"

"All our work will be lost!" Grooves' voice amusingly mimicked the manager's shout. It was not at all like him, but it was clear to Grooves over the phone that it contained a distinctly derisive nuance.

"Ye actually think that DJ Grooves became a star because of ye, right? Not only about TV, but ye even meddled in 'my' movie business. On top of that, ye even tried to get me to take you to and from the office right now." "What? Isn't it true? I always work overtime to get the work done, for you!" "Yer a hard worker! If ye want to work hard, work hard on yer own. Don't bother using me, peck neck."

There was a small sound of something opening. "But if ye insist so much, I'll have ye go get a work. Go on!"

The manager's cries became even higher pitched. Apparently, the door had been opened. And since the wind was still howling, the car was probably still running. "I'm gonna fall! I'm falling!"

"What?" Ye started it." "Please! Please! I just want you back!" "But if I go back, ye'll make me work, won't ye? Then I dinna want to." "Well, ......" "I won't let ye go home until ye do at least two less radio shows and one less regular TV show." "............"

All he could hear was the sound of a strong wind. What in the world is going on on the other side of the phone?　No reason at all occurred to him why he needed to go AWOL from the radio, kidnap the manager, and break the traffic laws. Maybe the alcohol from yesterday is still in his blood and that's why the Conductor is so bold in his mind. As an owl, the most he would do is block the doorway to the studio or make a loud noise in the lobby, but as a moon penguin, he is really doing things on a level that is not funny.

There was a jumble of noise, and someone's muttered "but" or "no" came in. Grooves just listened to it silently, worriedly, and didn't know what to say to him.

It's true that lately he hadn't been able to go out and shoot movies properly because of the work he's been doing as a star. Grooves must have talked to his manager about it the other day, but he said irresponsibly, "But I believe you can do it," and instead of reducing his workload, he increased it. No way was he going to reduce his workload without asking for permission, so he took on all of it.

He was vaguely indebted. He knew that he did not feel very well about his making the movie. ＿＿＿＿ From the day the deal with Dead Bird Studio was completed, communication with him started to go a little awry. Every time he received a silver trophy, he said, "Are you still going to do it? If you have time to mind your rival, you should mind your fans." That's true. But he just couldn't forgive his rival. Even when his purpose for making movies changed from dreams to revenge, he still had the clapperboard.

"Darling," Grooves couldn't resist saying. "Give me his time." "Y-you're still here? What the＿＿＿＿"

"Are ye on the phone?" The Conductor entered the conversation, taking a sip of something. "At least it's more interesting than talking to ye. Give me that."

After a brief struggle, the phone connected to the Conductor. "Hello?" A rather languid tone reached his ears over the slow radio waves.

"Darling, I don't know where you are, but you have to come back right now! You'll get caught!" "What? Do you know who you're complaining to? ......No, wait ......."

The Conductor was silent for a moment and later said only, "Are you Grooves?"

"Heh! I'm glad to hear that. I was actually wondering if ye had died somewhere. Ye almost choked to death with a wine bottle in yer beak. That's not good. If yer gonna die, yer have to pay the studio's management fee for the rest of the year before ye do." "Um, sorry about that ...... No, we're off topic! Go back, darling. Now!" "I wish I could. I cannae wait to go home and sleep too. My back and arms hurt from being in the car from morning till night. My throat is kind of sore too, and I feel nauseous ......" "Then do it! Don't ruin my life over a speeding ticket!" "Yer life? It's fine. There was no police car and no one saw us because we weren't on the road in the first place. When he says 'I am sorry', we'll go home quietly, okay?" "Not on the road? Where are you right now?"

The Conductor laughed, as if he had been waiting for that. "We're in the woods. Do ye know? Forests are good. The smell of them is relaxing, it's environmentally friendly, it's free, and it's quiet and comfortable because there's no one around."

That being said, some of the sounds heard earlier sounded like branches and leaves breaking. The tires on his car must be in shreds. "I just had my car serviced," he grumbled.

"Why are you running in such a place? And while watching a movie. It's dangerous!" "What? It's yer fault who installed this feature, isn't it? I was going to drive on a clean, well-paved road without a movie on. But then this lad starts screaming about how terrible it would be if someone saw us, and talking about nonsense, so we're driving through the woods and watching a movie." "Oh, no. ......" "Speaking of movies, ye only downloaded yer own movies? I'm gonna sleep because they're so boring. How am I supposed to download my movies?" "Don't ever touch the screen because it costs money to buy movies! So, will you know how to get home?" "Maybe. Well, if he's not sorry, we'll just run forever. Hey, ......what yer name was, uh, ...manager? What do ye mean ye haven't even opened yer pocketbook? Are ye sure ye wanna go home!?"

There was a sound like something colliding with something. The Conductor must have punced the door. "Please don't do anything to him, darling!"

"He didn't do anything wrong. He was just doing his job!" "Just doing his job? Is it the manager's job to decide everything from breakfast to dinner, to control the type and number of shows you appear on, what ye talk about on the radio, when ye make movies, when ye talk to yer friends, and so on? Is it his job to yell at ye and try to force ye to follow his orders when ye dinna?" "No, I wanna-..." "Oh yeah, whatever. When I told him I was taking off work to go to my grandchildren's birthday party, he hid yer car key. I'm not sure how much he's taking advantage of ye. I had no choice but to give up the birthday party." "Oh, about that..." "Ye couldn't go, could ye? That's fine. If ye ruin their party, I have no face to match them. Don't worry, I'll send them a present later. In fact, I've won tickets to a luxury cruise, and if my daughter will allow it, I'm going to take them on it. Many of them prefer boats to trains, so it will be a great present for them."

The Conductor's, i.e. Grooves', voice softened for that moment. It was such a polite, gentle voice that one could tell at once that he loved his grandchildren. It sounded strange for his own voice to say those things, but it was then that Grooves finally realized that trophies were not the only thing the Conductor cherished. At the same time, he realized that the destination he was looking forward to traveling to would be with the Conductor. He sighed at the thought of being with him again.

"That's why I want to get home early, laddie. I need time to get presents for my lovely grandchildren, and I'd hate to let a moon penguin writes a message card on my behalf. The ticket is not valid forever.......Have ye decided what to cut back on?" "Please＿＿＿＿y-you are drunk now. Let's talk again tomorrow...?"

"What?" "Um, well...I- I just... ＿＿＿＿I'm just saying, ...it's not right! You are a musician by profession, aren't you? But lately you don't write songs, and you don't play! If I didn't bring you musical work, you'd merely be a moon penguin! You talk about movies, ＿＿＿＿movies! You haven't made any achievements at all! Just when I think you've finally started writing your own music, it's the theme song for your movie! No one expects you to get a movie trophy! What they want is your new song and your performance! If I didn't get the work, you wouldn't be doing any of it!"

"So?" "Your popularity means reputation to your firm. You knew that, of course. You became a movie director, and do you know how much that affected my results and my producing operation? I gave you ten years of freedom, Grooves. Because I believed you might have other talents besides music! Your fans still remember the mistake you made in the theater on the moon. Only two trophies are not enough to make up for it. You should make it up for it!"

Suddenly, all sound disappeared as he choked. The breathing, the sound of the wind, nothing could be heard.

Grooves almost dropped the receiver. 'No one expects you to get a movie trophy.' Grooves himself knew that. He wasn't taking the trophy for his manager; he wanted it for himself. But somehow, it was still shocking to hear him say it once. The words of denial from the bird that had been so dedicated and supportive of his activities up to this point was heavy and bitter beyond belief. No one, really no one, saw Grooves as a movie director. They supported Grooves not because they believed he had movie talent, but because they believed in him as a star-

"Is that all? Surprisingly few."

The Conductor said, still with the movie on.

"The reason Grooves can only make crappy movies is because he doesn't have the time to do it. There are more things lacking than that, but at least yer one of the reasons. Do ye know how many months it takes to make one movie? It usually takes six months to make a movie that is less than two hours long. Do ye know what happens to a bird when they cannae spend time on their hobbies and private life? They die of alcoholism.＿＿＿＿Ye almost killed me!" "Uh-uh......ya..." "Ye have something to say to me, right? Don't kill me with yer scummy little squabbles, peck neck. Or rather, don't complain about every single thing I do! Don't forbid me to at least eat chips!"

After that, all that followed was sobbing. When the Conductor made a sound that could be either a sigh or a puff of smoke, the sound of the wind became even higher. Grooves listened with his beak open. As usual, he was still amazed by the Conductor's words and actions. Perhaps he was just trying to scold the manager for not listening to his words, but even so, his words were very kind to his rivals, even considering that they came from the Conductor.

"So, what have ye been doing all day? Ye haven't done anything wrong, have ye?" "What do you mean?" "Did ye make the berth beds? Ye have to change all the bed sheets at eight o'clock. The other birds takes care of the food and baggage, but it's yer job to take care of all the passengers' requests." "Hey, I didn't hear that!" "Peck Neck! Did ye think I just drink coffee on the train? I hoped yer not ignoring all the announcements at every station and not disregarding bringing water and meals to the premier ticketed owls!" "Tell me those things in the morning, darling! You could have called me. You didn't leave your work manual anywhere!" "Of course. why do ye think I do? Seriously, what were ye doing?" "I was shopping! I was buying your clothes, curtains and stuff! There's no way a creepy closet like yours! You were planning to go to the birthday party in that tattered uniform or that jacket, weren't you? Think about how your grandchildren feel for a minute!" "What? Nobody cares..." "No, I care! Appearance is a mirror. If I had a birthday party, I'd want my guests to be beautiful. You know why? It's etiquette, it's a sign of respect. You dress your characters in your movies in new clothes. It's the same thing! If you love your grandchildren so much, why don't you dress them appropriately!" "......W-what? Outsiders should not be involved in this!"

His words lost momentum and took on a tinge of awkwardness. Perhaps he is aware of it. Grooves was relieved that it would not take him long to improve.

"It's a mutual thing. You had three TV shows today, and you skipped all of them!" "That's his fault, isn't it? Hey, have ye decided what yer going to cut back on? Have ye decided!?"

There was a loud rattling noise. The manager choked up and answered in a voice so small they could hardly hear him, "I've decided."

"......All right, let's go home." "And give him some water, please. He'll die of dehydration." "Oh! Water? Hey laddie, all we have is whiskey, but ye drink it, dinna ye? ＿＿＿＿Good, good, ye should drink plenty of it. The only good things to taste on the moon are coffee and liquor. Snacks, steaks, everything tastes so bland." "You just have a bad taste buds, darling."

7. He rubbed his stretched muscles and collapsed lethargically onto the soft bed.

Preparing the berths was more difficult than he had expected. It was hard to see in front of him when he was carrying so many sheets, and they were soiled with drool and sweat, and were so large that putting them in a special net was also a challenge. After that, he had to get new sheets from the linen room and set them on the numerous berths, and the repetitive and simple task of moving around with his unaccustomed body caused him to scream easily. Without help, would he have been able to finish making the beds by the time it was time to go? Absolutely not. Grooves got up slowly and headed for the closet.

Not sure if it's always him, but maybe it's not. ＿＿＿＿The pianist helped him.

"Let me help you!" he suddenly appeared at the bedroom door. Remembering what he had said, Grooves thought for a moment about refusing his help, but he didn't have the strength or energy to do so. In the end, the owl did more than half the work and was able to open the door exactly on time.

His voice was filled with a hint of expectation, "You can't relax if you work all the time, can you?" He knew he was saying this because he wanted him to play the piano again, or because he had found a new friend, but it still sounded very heavy to him. Music, performing, and even shooting movies were all work for Grooves.

He wondered what hobbies he had that were not directly related to his, or his work. For a moment, he thought about whether he had such a thing. He believed himself that there must be a lot of things he just couldn't remember, but even at 8:30, the only answer he could come up with was driving. Even watching movies is almost always a work interview for him, and watching TV is also for his own production strategy. He has never really enjoyed variety shows. He is always thinking about how he should respond when someone makes a bad joke and he is asked to answer it, or how he should react when someone says something that is inconvenient for him. Playing a musical instrument, composing music, and so on, are all work if there is remuneration. The yellow owl took several new ties from one of the shopping bags and carefully hung them on hangers. It is true that Grooves had no freedom or time, but perhaps the manager was not the only cause. Maybe it was his own fault for spending all of his free time not for himself, but for others.

For example, if Grooves had a week off, what would he do? He would compose music on Monday, shoot a movie on Tuesday and Wednesday, watch TV on Thursday, memorize a script on Friday, shoot another movie on Saturday, and prepare for his work on Sunday. That's how he would spend his time. Even today, he should have danced at the club on the moon, never mind the Conductor or the train. Then he wouldn't have vomited. He should have done what he really wanted to do, just as the Conductor cancelled all of Grooves' business and spent the day driving and watching movies while breaking four traffic laws.

As a result, the Conductor succeeded in reducing Grooves' workload. All in all, it was a use of his time that Grooves could never have come up with.

Is that the difference between him and himself? ＿＿＿＿Is that the difference between first and second place, gold and silver?

Once all the ties had been putted away, Grooves went back and looked at the balance of the colors. The strong colors of purple, white, yellow-green, red, and turquoise looked great against the dark wood closet. The pattern was also impeccably gorgeous. In Grooves's opinion, everything the Conductor chooses is too safe. Since his coat and shirt are plain, he should at least wear a tie with a pattern. Not the usual checks and polka dots, but something with a print or embroidery, for example.

He repeated the simple task of arranging and hanging the clothes there again and again. Although he did not want to collect the bed sheets, wash them, and re-set them, strangely enough, it was not hard at all for him to arrange the clothes. Either he liked this kind of thing or it simply suited his nature. He couldn't give him a good answer, even though it was his own thing.

He loves shopping. Especially when he buys a lot of beautiful but inexpensive things, he feels the happiest. When he was a kid, he spent all his money on marbles and sequins and things like that. This is because he didn't have to worry about what would happen to them after they broke. Buying musical instruments and furniture is a little tiring, but clothes and supplies are just pure fun. As the yellow owl brushed his coat, he wondered for a moment if he could call this one of his likes.

If this is correct, Grooves has used about half his time today for himself. If he thought about it, shopping for the Conductor was just one of the good reasons he did. At the time, the possibility that he might not be able to come back as the Conductor was a big one, and he didn't know if Grooves would be alive, meaning he didn't know how long he would spend as the Conductor, so he came up with the idea to go shopping and change his environment. But he would have done so even if he had not. The reason didn't matter as long as he could go shopping.

The yellow owl grinned a little. See, he had forgotten that he had some likes. It is only that he had forgotten about it because he had not done it until now.

The closet was a sight to behold when he finished putting everything together. In the morning there was only uniforms and a jacket, but now there was a traffic jam of clothes, a huge flood.

The same is true of the vanity, which was filled only with old air. It was hard to imagine its owner's tattered feathers from the multicolored containers that now lined them.

After taking care of everything, he looked once more into the well-polished mirror.

The golden feathers glistened softly in the gentle apricot-colored lighting. They were as smooth and fluffy to the touch as they looked. It would take a few more months to see the true beauty of his feathers, as they would not all be in good condition in a day. They were never as strong in color as the reflected light of trophies, but somehow looking at them filled his heart. After all, appearance is a mirror. His feathers looked much better now, when he was happy, than when he looked in the mirror in a terrible feeling.

He wanted him to have continued to take care of him. Grooves doesn't feel good looking at shaggy feathers, and it makes him feel emptier than he should when he thinks about how many times he's been beaten by the owner of those feathers. What to do, he thought, as he settled down on his old coffee-scented couch. Is that bird the kind of bird that will figure out how to do it on its own and make the most of it? No way. If he had such a positive attitude, he would have made more movies in differences. He leaned his back hard against the backrest and turned his head to look at the room. It was then that he noticed for the first time that his neck turned a great deal. He stroked his neck, trying to see where the bones were, only learned that the feathers were smooth to the touch from the treatment. He kept turning his neck from side to side, this way and that, looking for something useful.

But within two minutes, the yellow owl sat up and took a letter set out of his shopping bag. He hadn't expected to use it so quickly, but it was unavoidable. There were no notebooks, pens, or, worse, pencils in the Conductor's room. He must have done all his work digitally. He opened the pen, inwardly mocking his rivals, saying that this is why his inspiration is dead and he can only make boring movies.

After writing out the template, he wrote about the day's events as he thought of them. For starters, Grooves had to apologize to the Conductor to some extent. Of course, it was about the pianist and the birthday party. He did not dare apologize for the shopping. They were absolutely, positively necessary purchases for the Conductor. Honestly speaking, he did not remember how much the total cost was, but it should not have been that much since he only purchased a few pieces of clothing, grooming, and a few pieces of furniture. ＿＿＿＿While writing the sentence, the back of the couch came off and broke. Exclaiming that it was no way, he left the couch and decided to continue writing in the empty coach.

The rearmost coach, the one closest to the caboose, was quiet and cold. He thought it was air-conditioned, but it was not, apparently because the sun was not rising. He buttoned up his coat, sat down in one of the many seats, and spread a letter set on the table. He closed the curtains, turned on the table lamp, and quickly pressed the tip of his pen to the paper.

He tried to be as clear and concise as possible in explaining how to use the many beauty products crammed into the vanity. There were a sizable number of things he wanted him to say or do, but he compromised them to some extent, writing only that he usually applied treatments and that brushing alone was fine.

Grooves knew. The best entrance into anything is not given by others, but by one's own interest. If the Conductor's grandchildren noticed the slightest change in their grandfather, he would take himself somewhat more seriously about his appearance. Anything is fine. For example, a soft feather or a nice scent. If the Conductor strokes them or picks them up, they should notice the change immediately. Whatever it is, if they notice a change in their grandfather and say it out loud, he will start to pay a little more attention to his appearance. The Conductor will never listen to what Grooves says, but he will listen and act on what his grandchildren say.

Speaking of changes, a description of the closet also needed to be written. Grooves bought a lot of ties and non-uniform clothes and stuffed them in there. The ties are all colorful, but as far as shirts and pants go, they are all black and white, so unless you put them together really badly, you should be decently dressed. After he had written all he wanted to write, he stopped holding the pen. There was still space left on the paper even though there was nothing left to write. Grooves was too old to come up with a doodle.

He decided to have something to drink, as he usually did when he was stuck working on a script. He went back to the Conductor's room and looked in the pantry, which was full of coffee beans. It was already night. Not in the mood for caffeine-laden coffee, he looked for packages of tea, juice, and other drinks. Then, among a pile of colorful them, he found an old paper bag. Surprised and dismayed that he was still hiding such a thing, he took it and examined what it contained.

Along with a small bouquet of dried flowers, the paper bag had a message card attached to it. "May everything you want to do go well."＿＿＿＿Whose words were they, and who wrote them in the first place? He felt impatient, as if he had seen something he was not supposed to see. The handwriting was gentle and calm, clearly not that of the Conductor. He opened the bag with trepidation and looked at its contents. It contained several sets of tea bags. They smelled of chamomile. There was only a tiny bit in the large bag, disproportionately small. He returned it quietly to the pantry, shocked.

Eventually, he grabbed his pen again as he sipped the non-cafeined apple flavored tea. As expected, he couldn't bring himself to use that tea bags. It was filled with so much love that even Grooves, an outsider, could tell that he couldn't use it. It must have been made for the Conductor by someone who loved him and gave it to him as a gift.＿＿＿＿And maybe the Conductor knows this, so he is consuming a little bit at a time. That's why the contents were less.

It is not easy to know someone's private parts unless you have the courage to do so. Grooves was a little upset because he had just learned yet another one of his rival's secrets. He downed it with a flavored tea and slowly exhaled air.

A bluish-white light was peeking through a gap in the curtains. It was moonlight. Grooves opened the curtains slightly and looked out the car window at the view beyond.

The desert was white and the sky was black, and many stars were twinkling on it as if they were sprinkled with paint. It was beautiful, he thought honestly. Normally the stars are not visible on the moon, and you cannot see such a magnificent starry sky from Dead Bird Studio, either. It is precisely because it is a lonely desert with nothing bright around that the stars look so beautiful. He looked at it for a while, forgetting about the paper bag and the letter. The cacti and rocks illuminated by the moonlight were all dyed white and looked fantastic. Grooves suddenly looked at his hands. The golden feathers looked white in the bright white night light and blue in the shadows.

The template is usually to end these letters with a phrase of thanks, and he didn't know of any other way to end it neatly.＿＿＿＿He still wasn't sure if he should be thanking that thing or not, but for the time being, he decided to say thank the yellow owl after all, since he had more time to make the movie because of his actions. The way he did it was definitely rough, but it was worth it just to know that he wouldn't get less work if he didn't do that much. ……If Grooves had been able to talk to the manager properly, Conductor would not have had to do that. Thinking about that made him feel just a little bit sorry. Then, just as he was about to finish writing the last part, he remembered that he had finally saved his life. If the Conductor had not woken up, Grooves might have choked to death with a bottle of liquor down his throat. He signed his name with mention of that as well.

He folded it neatly and placed it in an envelope. He cleaned his room and organized the scattered illustrated books and novels just to put it on his desk, though he did not seal it, as he was sure it would be opened soon. (Of course, he had no proof of this. He just wished it were. Just the thought of having to ride the train for a week was horrifying.)

So he hoped that one day soon the conductor would read this letter. And he wanted to see again the golden morning when he wakes up not as a train conductor, but the dark morning when he wakes up as a musician of the moon.

He turned off the lights in his room and snuggled into a pile of blankets. The desert at night was cold, and from the moon penguin's point of view, it was no less so than the moon's.

8. A familiar alarm sounded.

Grooves opened his eyes almost reflexively. He was still swimming in a blur of consciousness, listening to the sound of horns and air coming from outside. No smell, no light. But the alarm went off, so it was morning. Grooves staggered up and stretched. There was a bright white carpet, red bedding, an acoustic guitar, an amplifier, and an upright piano on display. He looked around in order and finally caught sight of a cabinet that housed small replica trophies. There was only two Bird Movie Award trophies, and all the others were filled with trophies he had received when he won music-related competitions, that beloved cabinet.

He stared at it and thought, "The cabinet is there." Then, a few beats later, he realized he was a moon penguin.＿＿＿＿Not the yellow owl, nor the Conductor of the Owl Express.

He did not shout, dance, or try to do anything spectacular. This was probably because he knew that somewhere along the way, this would happen. A feeling of relief rather than joy filled him.

He hummed and went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Then, as he was accustomed to doing, he poured hot water into the instant powder, mixed it quickly, and drank it. It tasted the same as usual. As usual …… But somehow, it seemed extra wonderful to him today. It was good that he is a moon penguin. It was good to be a star. It is good to be a musician, good to love science fiction, good to live on the moon. He thought about it over and over, thankful for everything that made up who he was anyway, from the little things to the big things. It was good that he did not have to lose this.

He returned to his room with his still hot coffee in hand. He soon discovered an unfamiliar sheets of paper on his desk, where he organized.

When he took it up and read it, it was immediately apparent that it was printed. The font, designed to be easy to read with dots, was aligned with the same spacing. It must have been the Conductor who wrote it. He decided to read it, but he was a little surprised to know that he had done the same thing. It started out with an apology. He wrote he was sorry about missing work and about that drive. It also said that he had canceled all of his work for the week because he didn't think this condition would be fixed anytime soon. Then, without a pause, he added a few quips about how to drink. If want to get drunk, he wrote, don't drink expensive liquor at home, buy cheap liquor at a gas station and drink it. Grooves put his fin to his beak, about to say, "I knew it."

Surprisingly, he ended on a thankful note. "I still don't know what kind of things you bought, but I hope they weren't anything fancy." "My grandchildren and daughter might be happier with something you picked out for them than I would be with something I did myself." Satisfied, he read the back of the note.

P.S. I bought 30 movies, or maybe 40, that's about it. Don't try to fight me with your scummy movies. You should watch these and learn how to direct.

He had a bad prediction. Grooves hurriedly turned on his laptop and checked his movie purchase history. The list was indeed filled with movies he had never seen before. The pages that used to be jam-packed with red, blue, and yellow were no longer there, and sepia colors such as brown and black dominated the list. The director of it may or may not have been the Conductor. Perhaps he bought movies he liked. With Grooves' money, of all things. Puzzled, he calculated the amount he had spent from his balance. Old movies were basically expensive, partly because they commanded a premium price. It was hardly much different from the amount Grooves had spent on shopping with the Conductor's money.

^^^^^

Thanks for reading to the end! I was going to make this a more light-hearted and fun story, but... If they switched they would probably act for themselves. However, while Grooves tries to protect the Conductor's life to some extent, the Conductor has no respect for Grooves' life at all. He threatened the manager only because he was a distraction to him, not because he cared about Grooves. However, their actions for their own sake ultimately benefit the rival. Why? Because they are very much alike. Have a good day!!

#a hat in time #ahit conductor #the conductor #ahit dj grooves #dj grooves #ahit fanfic #my fic #my answers

69 notes · View notes