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Inside of Parable City, there is a coffee shop. This coffee shop, located right nearby plenty of office buildings and a school, was known to be very popular. Whether or not it was students rushing in to hang out or employees wanting some coffee while they worked on their latest project, the coffee shop always seemed to be filled to the brim. There was one man that was always sitting in this shop. A writer, who always sat in the same booth and never spoke to anyone but the barista. Although today, there was another man in the shop. The man's name was Stanley.
Stanley had a very important project coming up. He would go back to his apartment to finish it up, but the apartment building had lost power the night before. As well as that, it was always hard for him to work in suffocating silence. So instead, he headed to the coffee shop he had overheard all of his coworkers talking about. By the time he'd gotten there though, all of the seats were filled up.
He sighed, deciding to wait by the door and see if anybody would leave and open up a table. Unfortunately, after a couple of minutes he realized that nobody was going to leave anytime soon. Deciding not to waste the trip here, Stanley decided to see if anybody would take pity on him and let him sit at their table with the promise that he wouldn't bother them. After scanning the shop for somebody who was alone, his eyes eventually fell on a man sitting in a booth.
The man looked older than he seemed to actually be, with graying brown hair and hazel brown eyes that were behind squared glasses. He had on a long coat and a gray sweater vest, with slacks and dress shoes. He had a yellow tie on. He was typing away on a computer, a notebook right next to him.
Well, he was alone and seemed completely uninterested in talking to anybody. The perfect candidate for Stanley to ask.
Before he walked over, Stanley scribbled down some words into his notepad before walking over to the table. The man didn't even look up at him. Stanley hesitated for just a moment, before tapping the man's shoulder. The man stared at his computer screen for a moment, as though he were debating whether or not he should talk or completely disregard Stanley in favor of whatever he was writing. Finally, he turned his head, an unhappy frown on his face.
"Can I help you?" He asked, in a tone that indicated he wanted Stanley to leave him alone in that very instance.
Stanley nodded, feeling sudden anxiety spike up with that annoyed look. He handed over the notepad, which the man read: Can I sit with you? There aren't any other places to sit here and I won't annoy you by talking.
The man didn't look very impressed. "That's what you've interrupted my writing for? To see if you could sit with me?" He asked. He glanced around. "Isn't there anybody else you can ask?"
Stanley reached for his notepad, scribbled some words down, and handed it back. Sorry, you don't seem like the type of person who'd talk to me or get confused about why I'm not speaking. And if you let me sit here, I'll pay for your next drink.
The man read his words, eyes skimming the page before he sighed and gestured to the seat across from him. Stanley grinned. That was much easier than he expected. He sat down, taking his laptop from his bag and booting it up as the man spoke to him. "I like tea, as a heads up. So if you want to keep your money, I'd recommend backing out now."
You order tea from a coffee shop? Stanley asked.
"You sit with random strangers at a coffee shop?" The man replied. Hm. Yeah, he got him there.
They sat in silence for a couple of minutes before a very tired looking barista walked up to them, asking what they wanted. The man ordered tea, and Stanley ordered a coffee. Stanley didn't care about the price at all, no, what he cared about was the name that this man put it under. He grabbed his notepad before he got back to work.
Your last name is "Narrator"?
The Narrator looked up at him, slightly more annoyed now. "Yes. Is that surprising?"
I've just never heard a last name like that before. Especially since you're a writer. Can I call you "The Narrator" when I'm not talking directly to you? Sounds better grammatically.
"Well, can I call you 427?" The Narrator shot back. He seemed slightly amused now, but no less annoyed. Stanley looked down at his shirt, seeing he still had his name tag pinned to his shirt. He took it off and put it into his bag.
My name is Stanley.
"Stanley? Well, you can't make fun of me for having a last name like Narrator when your first name is Stanley of all things!" The Narrator said, smirking. Stanley huffed.
That's very insulting and I hope you know that.
"Oh, I do know that. I'm very glad you think so," The Narrator said. Their drinks arrived, and each man took theirs, both immediately going to drink.
They worked for a little while longer, the Narrator occasionally flipping through the notebook as he wrote and Stanley typing away on his computer. As he worked, and paid for a few more of the Narrator's drinks, his mind began to wander. He wondered what the Narrator was writing in that notebook of his. It surely had to have been more interesting than the paperwork Stanley was being forced to do! Or, was it paperwork if he was doing it on a computer? Stanley wasn't sure. After his brain went on that tangent, wondering if this could be considered paperwork or not, he decided to ask the Narrator what he was writing. Stanley looked around before he did, reasoning with himself that even if the Narrator told him to go, the coffee shop was clearing up. He could just go to another table.
Hey, what are you writing?
The Narrator looked less than pleased at the interruption. "Well Stanley, I thought you said that you wouldn't bother me?"
Hey, I'm just curious! I'll stop if you want me too.
The Narrator sighed, looking in-between his computer and the notepad. "It's a story, obviously," He said. "About an office worker, trapped in the building. I haven't actually come up with much of the story yet, I'm a bit lacking in ideas. For most of the time, I've only been finishing up old drafts that I don't really care for right now."
Oh. Well, I believe in you. Good luck on your story, Narrator!
The Narrator cracked a smile. "I thought you said you were only going to call me "The Narrator"?"
Only when I'm not talking directly to you! I have to write all the time, I like grammar.
"Yeah yeah, alright," The Narrator said, before making Stanley buy him another drink. Yeah, Stanley was most definitely going to regret this later on.
Stanley had one more cup of coffee after that before his work was all done. He packed his computer back into his bag, but didn't have time to write a note before the Narrator spoke again. He didn't even look up from his computer.
"Oh, you're leaving?" He asked, sounding completely disinterested. "There goes my free drinks."
I bought you 4 cups, be grateful!
"You should be grateful I even let you sit here," Was the reply, although it seemed to be more of a joke than anything. "Goodbye, Stanley."
Bye, Narrator.
And with that, Stanley left the coffee shop. On his way out, he noticed that plenty of tables had cleared during his time there, but he didn't regret sitting with the Narrator. He wondered if the Narrator felt the same.
The next day day, Stanley went back to that coffee shop after work. He felt incredibly tired, the day having been long, and he was craving a cup of coffee. And just as his luck, or rather, his lack of it, would have it, the coffee shop was full once again.
He looked around and quickly spotted The Narrator sitting at the same place as yesterday. He was wearing the same coat and similar clothes, although his tie had been replaced by a yellow scarf. Stanley hesitated for only a moment before walking over, reasoning that he'd be able to make the same deal as yesterday. Once again, he tapped on the man's shoulder. This time, the Narrator looked up at him right away.
The shop is full. Can I sit here again?
"I hope this doesn't become a regular thing," The Narrator told him. "Are you gonna pay for my drinks again?"
Do I have to?
"I'd like that, yes."
Stanley sighed, but took his seat opposite of the Narrator anyway. Just after he ordered his coffee and the Narrator's tea, he wrote another message.
How's the story going?
The Narrator didn't speak straight away and for a second, Stanley wondered if it was because he was annoyed that Stanley was bothering him. Stanley put his notepad down and booted up his computer before the Narrator spoke.
"Honestly, it's not going very well. Honestly, you'd think that the story would be easier to write! But it's just a little tale about an office worker, and I have no idea how I'm going to write him." The Narrator paused for a moment, and that was when Stanley realized that he hadn't been ignoring Stanley. Rather, he just needed to figure out how to put his words together. "Say, Stanley, how would you feel if your boss was mind controlling you?"
Stanley gave him a confused look, tilting his head to the side as if to say What? The Narrator only grinned at him.
"Just work with me here Stanley, work with me," Is what he said. "Say that one day, you find out that you and all of your coworkers were being mind controlled by your boss. How would you react?"
It took Stanley a minute to come up with a response, and another minute to word it properly. He wasn't used to questions like this, although it had been the most interesting thing he'd been asked in awhile. I'd be very confused. How would I find out though? Am I told or do I just stumble across the truth?
"Hm, I guess you're right…" He muttered. "Stanley, you don't mind if I ask you a couple questions for my story, do you?"
Stanley shook his head. But I think I should be able to stop paying for your drinks now, if you're using me for your story.
Although the Narrator hesitated, he finally sighed. "Alright, fine. There goes my free tea…"
As the moments ticked by, the Narrator occasionally would ask Stanley questions based on what he'd do in certain situations. One thing that Stanley realized during this was that the Narrator really, really liked writing. He seemed to hyperfixate on it and was getting pretty excited to finally have it going somewhere. Or maybe that was just how all writers acted, Stanley didn't know. He was the most uncreative person he'd ever met. When he decided to tell the Narrator about this thought process, the Narrator smirked at him.
"You do seem pretty uncreative, coming to a coffee shop to do paperwork of all things," He said sarcastically. "But you are very good at giving me ideas for my story."
How?
"I'm not sure honestly, it might just be the fact that I've got someone I can ask questions and base the story on that."
I do have an idea for your story, actually.
"Oh? Do tell!"
I think you should put a narrator in, like yourself. A self aware one. Who talks to the main character.
"Like the one in The Book Thief?"
I have never read that book in my life.
"Uncultured swine." The Narrator smirked at Stanley's annoyed Hey! look. "But that does sound like an interesting idea. I'll see what I can do with it."
If I make your story super successful, you should give me some of the profit.
"Not in a million years, Stanley!"
Stanley sighed over dramatically, but he didn't argue. He just ordered another cup of coffee. If he didn't have to write it, he'd be complaining about the stupid project his boss had assigned him to. But he wasn't willing to use up the rest of his notepad, so he refrained from doing so.
Random question, what's with you and the color yellow?
"Are you that bad at starting conversations that you ask me about my favorite color?" The Narrator asked. He laughed when Stanley nodded. Stanley realized he liked his laugh.
You don't have to rub it in, bastard.
"Maybe that's true, but it's also very amusing," The Narrator told him, quite matter-of-factly. Stanley rolled his eyes.
You suck, you hear me? You're awful.
"I can hear you writing," The Narrator replied. "And call me awful all you want, but you're sitting here at my table."
Touche, Narrator. Touche.
"Y'know Stanley, I just noticed that you've been letting me talk about my story all I want. And I feel a bit bad. So what about you? What do you like to do?"
Well, that caught Stanley off guard. The Narrator was writing in his notebook still, probably notes about his story, but he seemed genuine about the question. Stanley was never good at talking about himself though. It took him a minute to figure out what he wanted to write.
I like pushing buttons, as a fidget. I like to draw, too. I also hate loud noises, but I hate complete silence as well.
The Narrator seemed interested in a specific part of that. "You can draw?" Stanley nodded. "Can you show me?"
I don't like drawing in front of people, and I don't like using my notepad to draw. I can bring you in a drawing tomorrow, if you want?
Stanley's brain only caught up with him when the Narrator had his notepad in hand already. Oh god, oh good god, Stanley had implied that he'd come back tomorrow. And sure, the Narrator was letting him sit here for now, but he knew that the Narrator could be starting to get sick of him. Stanley began biting at his nails. Maybe the Narrator would get pissed off at this, tell Stanley off for bothering him too much. Maybe he'd just roll his eyes and ignore it. Maybe-
The Narrator smiled, looking slightly surprised. Stanley sipped his coffee. "That sounds like a good idea, Stanley. I look forward to it."
Now that wasn't the reaction Stanley thought he'd get. It caught him off guard, so he just took his notebook back and nodded. Tomorrow then.
The next day, Stanley walked to the Coffee Shop with two of his coworkers. Employee 432, Jim, and employee 430, Mariella. While Stanley didn't have many friends at his work, as people would find it difficult to talk to him, he liked these two. He had finished up early, usually he was staying late, so he decided to walk to the coffee shop with them. It was Jim who started the conversation.
"So, who's that guy you've been sitting with lately, Stanley?" He asked. He always liked to know the details of people's lives, although he could take a secret to the grave.
It was slightly hard to write while walking, but he managed. I just call him by his last name "Narrator". Or "The Narrator" when I'm not talking to him. He's a writer.
"Didn't he publish a book a few months ago?" Mariella asked. "I read it. It was good, and it got pretty popular. Haven't you heard of him, Jim?"
"Oh yeah actually, but only in passing. Stanley?"
Not before I started talking to him recently.
"Recently? I thought you two were dating," Mariella hummed. Stanley choked, giving her a What?! look. She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, you guys seemed pretty comfy together."
I was giving him ideas for his story! The shop was full, all I wanted to do was get a place to sit!
"And that's how it all starts," Jim chuckled. Stanley punched him in the arm. "Augh, Jesus Christ! You hit hard, man!"
Just by his expression, Stanley said Good!
"You could've come sit with us," Mariella said. Stanley shrugged. He almost seemed to say Didn't feel like it. "Eh, fair enough."
"Unpopular opinion," Jim started. "But he gives off total DILF energy. Ow OW-STANLEY!"
Mariella watched in amusement as Stanley hit Jim as hard as humanly possible. Stanley didn't have to yell Say something stupid again, I dare you! at all. It was written all over his face. Stanley would have hit him, lightly, with his bag, but he chose not to. There was something important there.
When they reached the coffee shop, Stanley noticed something right away. He had gotten there earlier than normal, which meant that not all the tables had been taken up yet. Which was a little upsetting, since Stanley had actually been looking forward to talking to him today. He'd even drawn something new for the Narrator! Oh well. Walking in, he glanced towards the writer, who was sitting, typing on his computer again. He hesitated.
"Oi Stanley," Mariella said. He looked over to her. "Last offer to sit with us."
He glanced back over to the Narrator. Apparently she said his name loud enough for him to hear, because the Narrator was now looking over at him. He didn't say anything, but his mouth was pressed into a tight line. Was he…hoping Stanley would turn down the offer? Stanley turned back to Mariella, shaking his head politely. She seemed to expect that, saying goodbye and walking away.
Stanley walked over to the Narrator, gesturing to the table just to make sure. The Narrator nodded, and he took the spot that was starting to become his usual seat. He waved hello to the Narrator and took out his computer. There was something else in his bag now. A black folder.
"Hello, Stanley," Narrator said. "Your early."
Usually I'm staying late, but I finished on time today. Jim & Mariella let me walk here with them.
"Was it Mariella who asked you to sit with her?"
Stanley grinned. Yeah. Are you jealous?
Narrator sputtered. "Jealous? Of course I'm not jealous!" Stanley laughed. "Look Stanley, surely you can relate to wanting to have somebody to talk to about things you're interested in, right?"
Stanley shrugged. Yeah, maybe. But Stanley has never been one for conversation, written or out loud, so he's never really bothered many people with the rantings of whatever he was thinking. He had drawn the handful of people that were his friends, but he had a habit of adding fantasy elements for fun. He had only like, three friends though, so that hadn't lasted for long. He told this to the Narrator.
"I am also excited about that, seeing your art," The Narrator told him. "You said you'd show it to me."
Stanley nodded, getting the folder from his bag and sliding it over to the Narrator. There were three drawings inside.
The first one, he'd done of Jim. Except it wasn't exactly him, it was also the mix of a character Stanley had dubbed the Timekeeper. Like Jim, he had long black hair, although this hair was kept down. His eyes were wide behind his circle framed glasses, although one was covered by a clock which he held in one hand, the hand above his head and the clock hanging from the chain, making it look like it was part of his glasses. His skin and pants were completely black, like a shadow, but his shirt gave a bit of color in white. He was grinning wide and slightly manic.
The second one was of Stanley's supervisor, which he was also friends with. This one was actually done in color. Just like the real person, she had brown skin and gray streaked black hair that was pulled into a thick bun. She wore a blue vest with a white button up, a black skirt and heels. She wore square glasses, similar to the Narrator's. He had drawn monitors behind her, as though she were keeping an eye on things. The Curator, a common nickname for her at the office. That's what he'd dubbed this drawing of her.
The third one, although it was only a sketch, Stanley had decided to do of himself. It was out of boredom one day, a day where he was wishing he'd be able to do something more interesting than go to work and go home every day. It was of somebody, vague enough for him to deny it was him, jumping from one floating platform to another, above an endless void. Stanley didn't know what he was drawing at the time, but he liked it.
"Holy shit Stanley," The Narrator said. "You drew all of these? They're really good!"
Stanley began scribbling down on his notepad, writing down as fast as possible as he tried to explain where the inspiration for each drawing had come from. How the Curator, even though she was kind and friendly, was an absolute demon when it came to showing up right as Stanley was starting to slack off. How Jim was always, always on time and a little neurotic about keeping a schedule. How Stanley himself actually did like doing parkour, although he hadn't done it in a very long time.
Suddenly, he realized why exactly the Narrator was so excited to talk to him about his story. Being able to get his ideas out there was a greater feeling than Stanley ever realized, especially since the Narrator was engaged in the conversation and not just zoning out while he was writing.
Once Stanley was done talking about his drawings, the Narrator began talking about his story. He ranted about the plot of his story, about an office worker who's coworkers had gone missing and who now had a narrator in his head. About choices that the narrator wanted the worker to make, and how sometimes he went against the narrator and sometimes he didn't. It was all in one big loop. Stanley was, to say the least, extremely interested. He'd occasionally make a comment or a joke, and watching Narrator's eyes light up made Stanley nearly as excited for the story as he was.
The narrator sounds like a full on supervillain in the Countdown ending.
"He's a little pissed off at the office worker, obviously."
Does he get his flair for the dramatics from you?
The Narrator chuckled. "I do like being dramatic, that's true." He paused, hesitant, before asking Stanley a question. "Say, Stanley, how would you…like to be the main character of this story?"
Stanley tilted his head to the side, as if to say What?
"Well, you're very easy to write and I can ask you questions based on what you'd do in these situations. Those were only concepts. If you don't want to, that's-"
But Stanley was already frantically writing on his paper. No, that sounds amazing! Are you serious?
The Narrator nodded. "Don't let it boost your ego that much," He said sarcastically. Stanley laughed. "But yes, I'm serious."
Of course I'd want to do it!
That would have to be the most interesting thing Stanley had ever done in his life, being the main character of a story. It sounded fun. The Narrator grinned at him, and Stanley grinned right back.
The days went on. Stanley stopped asking if he could sit by the Narrator, he just went right over. Narrator kept planning his story and Stanley kept showing off his drawings. They eventually began to talk about different things as well, including the Narrator trying to teach Stanley ASL.
Why do you even know all this? Stanley had asked.
"I'm a man of many talents, Stanley, I know many things."
There was another time when Stanley gave the Narrator a nickname. Or rather, was it a nickname of a nickname? Was calling someone by their last name technically a nickname?
Y'know, I'm gonna call you Narry. It's easier to write.
"Stanley, don't you dare call me that."
Whatever you say, Narry.
"Son of a-"
They added some characters to the world of the story, deciding to include the Timekeeper and the Curator for the fun of it. They were good characters, and besides, nobody would realize that they were based on real people.
Stanley came to rely on the Narrator. When he was having a rough day at work, he knew he had something to look forward to. What he didn't realize is that the Narrator felt the same, knowing he had a friend to talk to when he needed someone. It was a nice arrangement, which went on for a few months.
And then Stanley realized, one day at work while he was slacking off and talking to Mariella and Jim.
Mariella could see he had the Oh shit look on his face. "Hey Stanley, you okay? What's the matter?"
He had to write this one. Stanley was a quick learner when it came to ASL, but that didn't mean his friends were. I'm gay, Mariella.
"Um, obviously? What about it?"
He showed her the thing again, not wanting to write it out. I'm gay, Mariella.
"Oh.." Jim muttered, taking a moment to think. Their eyes lit up. "Oh. OH! Holy shit dude."
"Oh my god, you have a crush on Narrator?!" Mariella asked, grinning. "Damn Stanley, you should ask him out!"
Stanley shook his head. Nope. No. Not happening.
"C'mon Stanley, don't you wanna live out your dreams of being with a DI-" He cut off, Stanley throwing a book at his head. It missed, hitting the wall behind him.
"Isn't he only like, three years older than you?" Mariella asked. Stanley shrugged. "Although, I can definitely see what Jim is saying."
Another book got thrown. The Curator came by to tell them to get back to work.
Later on, when Stanley had gotten to the Coffee Shop, he wasn't very shocked to find the Narrator not there. He'd gotten a text earlier, the Narrator telling him that he'd be a bit late. Stanley didn't mind, going inside to get their usual table. He ordered a drink, and glanced out the window at the pouring rain. The rain that was so bad, Stanley's umbrella had hardly worked to keep him dry. On days like this, he really wished he had a car.
He didn't mind waiting for the Narrator at all. He didn't have any extra work to do today, so he just sat there, zoning out. When somebody tapped his shoulder, he looked up, expecting it to be Narry. It was not. It was some random woman who looked like the textbook definition of a Karen.
"Can you move?" She asked, quite rudely. Seriously, lady? Stanley wanted to ask. "My kids are in the car, and you don't need an entire booth to yourself."
Stanley shook his head. Hell no, his face seemed to say. The lady scowled. What the hell was up with people these days? You'd think that people like this wouldn't exist, but that was sadly proven wrong, with Stanley being the one on the receiving end of her shit.
"Why not?! You're all by yourself! You can get a seat by the counter!"
Maybe she'd screw off if Stanley told her that he wasn't alone. Her voice was starting to hurt his ears, and scare him slightly. Loud noises. Bleh. He grabbed his notepad, trying to scribble down why she should leave him alone, before she grabbed his notepad and threw it in his face. He jolted back, staring at her in complete shock.
"What the hell are you writing for?!" She yelled, Stanley covering his ears at her volume. "What, are you fucking idiot?! Why can't you talk?!"
She continued to yell, and Stanley wasn't really sure what to do. The volume of her voice was hurting his ears, and despite his mind desperately trying to tell him it was okay, his heart was pounding. Tears burned at the edge of his eyes. No, no no, he wasn't going to cry. Not over getting screamed at by some random stranger. Even if it scared him to death. Christ, why was he so bad at dealing with this stuff?! First he can't talk to defend himself, and now he's scared over getting yelled at. Unbelievable.
Suddenly, after what felt like an eternity but was only like, 20 seconds, the lady stopped, her face frozen in shock. Stanley froze as well, not because she stopped, but because the reason why she stopped was because somebody had thrown a drink at her. She turned around and Stanley could see who it was. Narry.
Before she could get a word out, the Narrator reached past her and grabbed Stanley by the sleeve around his wrist, pulling him. "Let's go," He muttered, not looking back. The lady began to yell again, but an employee had finally stepped in to get her to calm down. They went outside and into the rain. "Are you okay?"
I'm fine, Stanley signed, even though he very much wasn't.
"I'm sorry Stanley, but I think that's complete and utter bullshit," Narry deadpanned. Stanley let out a strained laugh.
She just scared me, that's all.
"I could hear her from outside the store. You can't even imagine what was going through my mind when I walked in, honestly!"
I'm glad you came when you did. Did you steal somebody's drink for that?
"I-oh, I think I did. Oh well. They can deal with it," He paused. "Do you um…do you want a ride home?"
Now that caught Stanley off guard. It was true they were just standing in the rain, but he had a 20 minute walk ahead of him. It's okay, you already helped me out today.
"Stanley, don't you have a long walk out here? I'm not going to force you, but you really want to walk home in this rain?"
After a moment of hesitation, Stanley agreed to go with him. They walked over to the car, and once Stanley gave his address, they were off. They drove in silence for a little while, Stanley's mind running rampant as he was absentmindedly chewing on his nails, before the Narrator spoke.
"Stop that, you'll hurt yourself," The Narrator said. He paused again, before asking a question. "So, what was she on about anyway?"
She was pissed off because I wouldn't move. She wanted to sit there.
"Unbelievable, the nerve of some people. Are you sure you're okay?"
I don't know. I don't know why I was so scared of her, all she was doing was yelling.
"You said you don't like loud noises. She was being loud. Of course it scared you."
Yeah, but what kind of 32 year old is scared of loud noises of all things? What kinda 32 year old can't talk?
Look, usually Stanley was pretty good about being okay with this sort of stuff. He could communicate just as well as everyone else, and everyone had fears! But when getting yelled at, even when he rightfully deserved it, scared him? When he got called an idiot to his face for not talking? That's when it began to eat away at him. It was awfully hard to stop that feeling.
The Narrator didn't respond right away. Stanley knew he was going to though, the Narrator just needed a moment to get his words in order.
"Stanley, many people are scared of loud noises and can't talk," He said, looking serious but not looking directly at Stanley. "And not many of those people can draw brilliantly, or come up with ideas like you do. It doesn't matter that you can't talk or are afraid of loud noises Stanley, it doesn't mean that you're an idiot. It just means that you can't talk and are afraid of certain things, that's all.
"And, that doesn't mean that you shouldn't be feeling upset. It's obvious why you would, it's just…you're a smart individual, Stanley. Don't let a Karen make you think otherwise."
It took Stanley a couple moments to respond, as the Narrator's words repeated in his mind. And suddenly, even with what just happened, Stanley felt…happy.
Thank you.
"Your welcome, Stanley."
It wasn't long until they reached the apartment building then. Before Stanley said goodbye, he pulled his folder from his bag.
I wanted to give you something dumb, he sighed, pulling out a sheet of drawing paper. As a gift.
"A gift? Why, thank you Stanley!" Narry said, sounding very pleased.
Stanley's face went red. Suddenly, he felt embarrassed by it. He said his goodbye before the Narrator could properly look at it, and ran to the building to get out of the rain.
In the car, Narrator looked at the drawing that had been given to him. It was of him, yes, but had the fantasy elements that Stanley had so loved to draw in it.
He looked very much the same, but his eyes were a yellow color. He had on the yellow scarf as well, except it was curling around his body like its own entity, eventually going along the ground to form The Adventure Line™, a joke that he and Stanley had come up with. He had his hand raised, palm flat. A couple of papers were floating above it, as though he were holding them in the air with magic. On the bottom of the page were the words: The Narrator.
Narrator didn't know how to feel about this. He could almost feel his face going red. He said not a word, opting to place the drawing on the passenger's seat of his car to make sure it wouldn't be wrinkled. He looked towards the apartment building, debating if he should go in to thank Stanley. Maybe not. He didn't know which number was Stanley's, and he wasn't sure if he even wanted to talk to the Narrator right now. If Narrator had gotten there sooner, the whole incident wouldn't have happened.
Before he could pull out, there was a knock on his window. He jumped, turning to see who it was. A formally dressed woman with a scarf wrapped around her neck and blonde hair that was tied into a ponytail was standing on the other side, peering in so she could see him. Mariella, Narrator realized.
He opened his window. "Yes…?"
"You're the Narrator, right? Stanley's mentioned you a whole lot," She said, giving him a friendly smile. Narrator wasn't sure what to think about that, the fact that Stanley had mentioned him to who seemed to be his friend. "He ah…he left his notepad at the coffee shop. I'd bring it up to him myself, but I can't right now. Would you mind? He lives in apartment 427, ironically."
Narrator nodded, taking the notepad when she handed it to him. Mariella grinned in a way that made Narrator wonder if this was intentional and walked away as he closed the car window. He watched her get into a car through his side mirror before she drove off. Grabbing an umbrella, he headed inside the apartment building.
It wasn't that hard to find apartment 427. But even when he found it, he found himself hesitating. Still, Narrator hadn't come all the way up here for nothing! Before he could back out of it, he knocked on the door. Stanley answered surprisingly quickly. He seemed slightly shocked to see Narrator.
"Hello Stanley, um…Mariella, I think, asked me to give this to you." He handed over the notepad, which Stanley took gratefully. (Internally, Stanley wasn't sure if he should thank Mariella or kill her over this stunt she pulled. She knew what she was doing, asking the Narrator to bring this up here.)
Thank you.
"You're welcome. And ah, I should be thanking you, actually. I really loved the drawing you gave me."
Stanley grinned, wide. Was his face going red, or was that just Narrator's imagination? I'm really glad!
Narrator nodded. "Yeah, it was good," He said, feeling slightly awkward. "I'll see you tomorrow, I guess?"
Stanley hesitated for a brief moment, wringing his hands together, before he signed something else. Actually, do you…want to come in for a bit?
It was Narrator's turn to go slightly red. He hoped Stanley didn't notice it as he smiled. "Yes actually…I'd like that a lot."