Thunderlight

(Cont.) We Need to Talk

"You ain't useless," Lenny says, softly. "How can you think you're useless when you and I just helped all those townsfolk?"

Lenny looks out at the ocean before returning his eyes to Mott, dusting the sand off himself.

"How can you be useless," he continues, "when you help people everywhere you go?"

"It's not enough," Mott argues, glaring down at the sand. The incomplete circle he'd drawn stares back at him. "I have no motivation."

"That's okay," Lenny assures, his voice soft. Reaching a hand out, he draws a swirl next to Mott's half-circle. "You don't have to know what your motives are, right now. It's okay to just exist and do your best."

"But doesn't that make me directionless?" He asks, almost pleading. "Are you really willing to stick around someone who's going on a suicide mission for no reason?"

"Sure," Lenny says with a shrug. "Even if you don't got a reason for it, I got reasons of my own for sticking around."

Mott recalls what Lenny told him, back in Moressley Town: he wanted to travel and see the world. "You can find someone else to travel with, you know. There's a million people you could see the world with."

"Who said that's my reason for sticking around?"

For a moment, Mott is thrown off guard. "...You did."

"It was my reason, at first. But motives change," he points out, still drawing in the sand. "I kinda think you're going through a change in motivations, too, and you don't know what to do with it. That's okay. I was pretty confused when my goals changed, too."

But... if seeing the world isn't his goal anymore...

"Then why are you doing this?" Mott asks, lost. "Why stick around?"

Lenny etches a curve in the sand, connecting his swirl to Mott's incomplete circle.

"Because," he responds, "I wanna be with you."

Something inside of Mott breaks. It splinters and shatters in a billion pieces, smashing apart. It hurts like hell, but it's a good break, he thinks. It hurts like hell and it stings in his eyes, and before he knows it, tears are rolling down his face.

"Can you forgive me?" He sobs, his throat sore and his lungs tight. "Can you forgive me for screwing all of this up so bad?"

Lenny stands, picking up Mott's discarded bandana and walking over to him. Mott watches with bated breath as Lenny ties the bandana back onto his arm, patting it when he's satisfied. Then, he wraps his arms around Mott's neck.

"I already have, silly," Lenny whispers, gently.

Mott hangs his head and returns the embrace, gripping him like a lifeline.

"Let's be a team again."

Mott weeps.

Even if Mott feels like floating on air after their reunion, he's grounded enough to know their work here in New Crestmount City isn't finished. That's why they've arrived on the doorstep of Uncle Theobald's estate in the dead of night, rapping impatiently at the door. His uncle answers the door, disgruntled and irate.

"Do you know what time it is?" His uncle demands, ill-tempered. "And where is my money, Montgomery? I know you took it!"

"Yeah, I did," Mott answers with a casual shrug. "But it wasn't really yours in the first place."

"I beg your pardon? I made that money through honest, hard work—"

"No, you didn't, but that's a different conversation," Mott interrupts.

"We're here to ask you to lower your taxes," Lenny finishes, folding his arms.

Uncle Theobald scoffs. "And why would I do something like that?"

"Because," Mott says, "you probably don't want my father finding out you stole New Crestmount City from him."

His uncle's face falls, and his eyes dart frantically between them. "I haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about."

"All existing properties and other such real estate shall henceforth belong to Lennox Alcott," Mott recites, recalling the words from his grandfather's will. His uncle's eyes widen comically large. "Last time I checked, New Crestmount was classified under properties and other such real estate. And last time I checked, your name wasn't Lennox."

"There was a codicil," Uncle Theobald blurts, pathetically.

"We both know my grandfather's handwriting didn't look like the shit on that codicil."

Uncle Theobald grits his teeth. Mott and Lenny exchange a glance, and Lenny smirks. Mott can't help but do the same.

"Name your rate," his uncle seethes.