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Sheriff screams.
Mater screams. Lightning screams, presumably because everyone else is.
So Sheriff makes himself shut up. “I was startled, is all,” he grumbles. He stares at the two younger men; both ripe with the smell of ethanol, rain-damp, and looking a bit cold. “What in the blazes are you boys doing in my office? At this time of night?” Sheriff wipes his wet tires off on the doormat, and shuts the garage door behind him again. The wind is so, so strong tonight in the gale, and tree branches keep snapping.
The door lifts back open an inch, and Sheriff really has to trounce it closed. The lock is broken, clean in two. Dammit, Lightning.
Mater starts up his noises again, laughing this time. He sways a little, and turns Sheriff’s old work computer toward him. The LCD screen shows some plain blue website. “Tumblr,” the tow truck nods.
“I still don’t get it,” Lightning frowns at him. There’s something tucked behind his wheel, where he's holding it against the edge of his bumper… a bottle?
“You’re buying rock tumblers on my computer? What for?” Sheriff sniffs. The air also smells... Like coffee?
“See? Sheriff doesn’t get it either,” Lightning whines and shoves at Mater. Mater ignores him, giggling and clicking things with the mouse-ball at his wheel.
“Can’t you use your own computer?” Sheriff asks in incredulity. Mater has an iPad- a gift from Lightning.
“No,” Mater says. “Never again.” His face curls downcast, and Sheriff deeply regrets asking.
“Don’t do that,” Lightning noses at him again. “I’ll get you a new one. I'll get you two, ‘f you'll stop crying.”
“YA-HOO!” Mater cheers, and reaches for what Lightning’s been holding onto-
“Are those my coffee grounds?!” Sheriff sputters.
Mater spills a cupful onto the floor, and the little grains get everywhere. “mmNo,” he says through a raw mouthful. More coffee grounds spray out of his mouth, and Lightning ducks.
“Yes- yes they are!” Sheriff argues. “Put that away!”
“Th’orry,” Mater says, and goes to put the tin away.
“Wait,” Lightning paws at him, “I want more first.” He stretches upward on his low suspension, but can’t reach where Mater’s tow-arm can. “Augh-weh- gimme.” He stands one front wheel on Mater’s bed, sloppily pawing at the air with the other, but still can’t reach the coffee can on the tow-hook. His aim is terrible. He’s going to fall. Mater doesn't seem to notice or care that he’s being used as a rampjack.
Sheriff just stares, baffled. At least they're up to harmless fun this time?
Wait. “You still haven't explained what you're doing in here in the first place,” Sheriff says. “My lock is broken. That’s breaking and entering,” he reminds them fruitlessly. If Sheriff had kept track of every single time Lightning broke into some location he was barred from -air force bases, abandoned mineshafts- the list would be damning. Warning signs don't mean a single lick to the racecar. Mater’s always been the same to a degree, but Lightning being involved in any escapade guarantees a far greater magnitude of destruction.
Lightning gets bored with trying to get the grounds back. “Oh yeah, the-” he slips falling off of Mater’s bed, which some rainwater (beerwater?) sloshes out of in the rebound. CLANK! He hits his bumper on the way down. Sheriff wrinkles his grille at the resulting puddle on the carpet. (Who knew Mater had anyplace watertight left on him?) “Eugh! Not th’ lock- the other thing broke,” is all Lightning supplies.
Sheriff is going to lose his marbles. “What thing? What’s broken now?” Surely not another mineshaft collapse?
“It's okay,” Mater says. “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me… Lightning says we can fix it tomorrow…”
Sheriff grits his teeth. “Explain. What broke?”
“The, the-” Lightning searches for the words, miming at the air with a tire. “The roof.”
ROOF?
Mater sniffles. “My garage done blowed away in the storm,” he laments.
“It was raining on me. And I was hungry,” Lightning finishes, like that explains everything.
“So you…broke into my office: the police station… to buy rocks… and eat plain coffee grounds?”
“Yep. I’m homeless now, so I figure it’s time to make a livin’ on the ol’ hellsite.” Mater is giggling to himself on the computer screen. “Hehe… reblog.”
Lightning remains unbothered by the accusation. “Do you have any other snacks?” He rolls around the long brick-clad room, bumping into things and sniffing the cabinets. He’s about ten feet from Sheriff’s minifridge, which has his leftover hoagie in it- “Ough, sandwich…”
Yep. Goodbye leftovers.
“Thff roaft beed?” Lightning says to no one.
Sheriff squeezes past them to get to the TV in the back. He leans over with a tire and shuts the fridge door from where Lightning had left it open, then finds the TV remote on the side-table. “Can’t you have gone to Sally’s instead?”
Mater laughs. “She don’t let us inside if we- if we been outside.” He waggles his brow. Sheriff ignores the crude double-entendre. But he can understand Sally; both boys are muddy and damp and sloppy. Straight out of a barn. Here they are, in his space instead!
…At least they're not outside in that wind. Sheriff sighs. “Well. As long as you two are dry, and not causing any further trouble.”
Lightning giggles, still unsteady. “Oh, I'm causin’… trouble…” He flops down next to Sheriff at the TV, smiling at him. “What are we watching?”