Shorties

Axel's presence was announced by a meaty thump on the table.

"What the hell is that?" Roxas cried.

"A turkey. You know, 'Gobble, gobble?' What does it look like?"

"Roadkill!"

"Oh. Well, that, too. Anyway, it's Thanksgiving tomorrow, so I figured I'd bring it home."

Roxas gave the crushed carcass a disgusted look. "You're kidding, right? That's what the supermarket is for. Also: Ew."

Axel scowled. "Look, the motherfucker ran out in front of my car and messed up my bumper, okay? I figured I might as well. Not like it's going to pay the repair bill."

"And, my dearest Axel," Roxas said sweetly, "just who did you think was going to pluck and gut our supposed Thanksgiving dinner?"

Axel's mouth opened in a slash of white teeth. "Why, you, of course!"

Roxas threw a dish towel at him. "The hell if I am. I'm not even touching it." Glowering at Axel he added, "Don't even think about bringing it into the kitchen, either. It's bad enough you got the dining table all gross."

"Well, where am I supposed to take it, then?"

Roxas threw his hands up. "The garage, maybe? Or out back? Just get it out of the house!"

Axel snagged the thing's legs with a grumble and moved towards the door. As he was opening it, he called over his shoulder. "Fine. Don't appreciate me for putting dinner on the table, then."

"That's not dinner, Axel!" Roxas hollered after him.

Thanksgiving morning dawned bright and crisp, with a hint of winter on the air. Axel didn't get up with the sun—he always slept as long as he could—but the late morning found him pulling the trash bag out of the garage fridge and hunkering down in a chair, turkey carcass in front of him, plucking feathers with determination. About an hour into it, and he was frowning down at the almost-bare carcass, contemplating the dead eyes and other parts that weren't included in the average store-bought turkey.

Near noon, Demyx's battered Honda pulled into the drive, ejecting the enthusiastic, sandy-haired man and the much more somber Zexion. They both took one look at a gore-covered Axel and made a silent agreement to pretend they hadn't seen that. Instead, they made a beeline for the front door, where Roxas greeted them with something like a grimace.

"Hey Rox," Demyx stage-whispered, "is everything okay with Axel? He looked like he was on a murder spree."

Roxas snorted, waving a hand to invite them in. "Yeah, well, maybe he is."

"What is he even doing?"

A shrug. "Dissecting roadkill, I guess."

"Has he…ever even taken a science course?" This from Zexion.

It earned a laugh from Roxas. "Your guess is as good as mine. I figure I'll leave him at it a little longer, and then make him come in to help with dinner."

Roxas was putting the store-bought turkey in the oven when Axel flung the garage door open, face triumphant, messily-butchered bird held high. "Here you go, babe! It doesn't get any fresher than this!"