Sofa, so Good (...Actually, Scratch That)

The lounge pulsed with tension. A single plate, littered with crumbs, sat nervously in the center of the room, surrounded by two tattered sleeping bags and an ancient couch. Because the plate was just a plate, it had little understanding of what the two angry men in the room were screaming about; all it knew was that the only thing keeping these men from killing each other was the possibility that the other would die much more painful death due to natural causes.

As the Dove drifted listlessly through ‘middle-of-nowhere’ space, the battle between the two men was beginning to reach its climax. The plate glanced towards the couch for guidance, but the sofa was definitely long dead. Without much else to do (because it was a plate), the platter listened in on the vicious fight (which it also couldn’t do, because it was a plate).

“You freaking scumbag,” the first man growled. “You KNEW those were the last of our rations. And you ate them. By yourself. Without me.” Despite his short stature and his older age, the man possessed quite the temper. As such, spit soared across the room like an exquisite fountain.

The other man, rather used to these saliva tsunamis, dodged and retorted quickly; “Okay Marvin, I know it may seem like I was the one to eat those last few rations, but you’re gonna have to believe me here! I didn’t even touch those rations; I swear on my mother’s grave!”

“Your mother isn’t dead, Howard.”

“Well, she certainly WOULD be if she learned I died from starvation on this God-forsaken ship.”

Marvin appeared much more ruffled than usual, although Howard had no idea why; the man seemed to become more vicious with the change of the breeze. “Do you know who IS dead, Howard? My grandma.”

“That was quite the tone shift there Marvin.”

“And do you know whose couch that is Howard?” Marvin questioned, choosing to ignore Howard’s blatant attempt to shift the subject. “It was my GRANDMA’S! AND YOU GOT CRUMBS ALL OVER IT!” Howard bellowed, releasing an unimaginable torrent of spit onto Howard’s poor, freshly-shaven face.

Howard wiped the spit off to the best of his ability, which was pretty badly, because there was a lot. “That’s probably for the best; the couch sucks anyways. It’s so last season,” was what Howard intended to say, but around the ‘It’s so last season’ part, Marvin hurled a punch towards Howard’s freshly-shaven, spit-submerged face. It hurt more emotionally than physically.

“...Wow, Marvin, it looks like you’re working up a sweat in here. Why don’t I just go open up a window and cool down this heated-”

“We are in space, Howard. That would kill us, which, quite frankly, seems much more preferable to having to listen to YOUR WORTHLESS LIES!” Marvin’s spittle was beginning to evaporate before it reached its target due to the heat of the argument. Howard was mildly impressed; he had never seen Marvin temper reach boiling point before. Aware of the eminent emotional explosion, Howard decided to cut his loses.

“Okay okay, I sampled a few of the rations. So what? I made sure we had plenty left.”

Unfortunately, a brief excursion to the food storage cell proved otherwise. The only thing more empty than the cell was Marvin’s patience, which was wearing thinner than graphene. This should have been scientifically impossible, but Marvin was easily proving otherwise.

“Well that is bizarre…” Howard stated, examining the remaining food (which was quite easy due to the lack thereof). “I know I counted at least a couple days worth of rations before I stol- sampled them.”

“Great job,” Marvin returned. “Because of you, our chances of delivering the cargo to Mars have gone from nothing to… beyond nothing!” The vast expanse of nothingness laid before them seemed to agree.

“Oh right… the delivery…” After a brief moment, a clear smirk planted itself on Howard’s face; a smirk that was usually the sign of a terrible idea that would end badly for most parties involved.

Noticing the probably psychotic tendencies portrayed by his partner, Marvin found that he was easily able to piece together exactly what Howard was planning.

“...Howard, if you try to eat the cargo, I swear to the sweet heavens above-” was all Marvin was able to say before his valued companion bolted up the steps, leaving him to drown in his own dribble. Marvin, of course, took off after him.

The lack of oxygen on the ship seemed to do nothing to stop the ravenous runnings of a famished fool. The Dove, held together with duct tape and hope, seemed to creak after each step, displaying its old age on its sleeve as it slowly continued through space. Speaking of drifting along, Marvin’s glory days were certainly behind him. By the time he rounded the last corner, he was effectively clawing his way across the floor. Despite this, he still managed to ram into Howard at the speed of a crawling man with his glory days behind him. Howard, unflinching, stood bewildered at what lay before him, which happened to be (once again) nothing.

“...How did you already eat it?” Regardless of the fact that he was spread out pathetically on the floor, Marvin still managed to radiate an air of pure malice.

“Now, I know this looks incriminating, but there is a very simple explanation to this.”

Marvin looked over him with the eyes of a wolf that was just starting to see the value of cannibalism.

“...I swear on my father’s grave?” Howard pleaded.

“...Is your father dead?”

“He isn’t, but the explanation still stands; I think our ‘cargo’ escaped.”

Due to his blind fury, the thought hadn’t even crossed Marvin’s mind. This was, in hindsight, a very unfortunate oversight, especially due to the nature of the cargo the duo needed to transport.

As if on cue, the ship rumbled tremendously. Not fun sounds echoed throughout the dim hallways, prompting Marvin to gain a second wind. As Marvin boogied down the corridor to wherever the ‘cargo’ wasn’t, Howard came to the realization that just watching his partner scoot away in a panic was not the best plan. Listening to the viscous scrapes sound off in the distance further supported Howard’s plan to follow his suddenly spry partner. The two eventually came to rest in the lounge, where the shredded remains of a particularly ancient couch laid before them. 

Marvin dropped to his knees in defeat in front of dismembered remains of the sofa. Nearly sobbing, Marvin cried, “Grandma… I’m- I’m sorry… I thought I could-”

Foregoing the multitude of questions concerning the ‘cargo’ swirling around in his head, Howard chose to, instead, state, “Good; it got the couch.”

Marvin, with the rage of an estimated 15 suns, gained a sudden third wind and made a valued attempt to sock Howard in the kisser. The subsequent whiff prompted Howard, who was extremely tired of this charade, to seize the moment by tackling Marvin to the floor. The two both rumbled and tumbled across the floor akin to how a cowboy both roots and toots.

“Don’t you DARE insult my gram-gram’s couch!” Marvin hissed, clenching Howard’s spleen with a surprisingly excellent display of precision.

“It was TACKY! The 1960s are back in style, not the 1860s!”

“You know what else is gonna be in the 60s? YOU!” Howard didn’t know how to respond to that, let alone how he should interpret it. He wasn’t given very much time to ponder that conundrum, though, seeing as how another conundrum was slowly meandering its way over to the fools quarreling over a couch. Howard noticed the ‘cargo’ sooner than Marvin, who was much more focused on Howard’s vitals. 

Upon further inspection, Howard determined that the ‘cargo’ greatly resembled a chihuahua, if that chihuahua looked nothing like a chihuahua and, instead, looked more like an over sized velociraptor crossed with a salamander and a crocodile. Since it’s common knowledge that at least three out of four of those animals are bad news (salamanders aren’t that bad), Howard came to the conclusion that getting the heck out of Dodge would be the logical course of action.

Knowing that Marvin’s conniption was going to take a while to settle down, Howard attempted to direct the fight towards the nearest exit from the room. Managing to plant both feet firmly on the ground, Howard miraculously propelled the squabble into the next chamber, furthest from the chihuahua(?). Quickly recovering, Howard launched himself at the door’s control panel, smashing the button labelled ‘close.’ The door obeyed, leaving the men in a pitch black darkness.

“Let go of me you hoodlum!” Marvin shrieked, despite the fact that no one was even holding him anymore. Marvin fumbled around the unlit room, searching for anything vaguely shaped like Howard’s head that was within pummeling distance. In response to this tantrum, Howard, once again, found himself to be the pillar of clarity that would get the men out of their troubles. That clarity lasted a whole 16 seconds, as realization began to set in.

The two men were not, in fact, in a hallway, but a room no larger than a closet. With no exits. The snarls beyond the closed door reminded the duo of what would happen if they decided to get brave. Howard groped around the room, eventually settling upon something that at least felt like Marvin.

“Marvin! MARVIN! Get a hold of yourself, or else I swear I WILL eat that... thing!”

“I think I would prefer that, actually!”

Howard took a moment to think. “...Alright, look Marvin; I know we’ve had our differences recently, but if we want to get out of this alive, we’re gonna have to work together. Can you do that for one moment?”

“...If I have to.” The statement was filled with much more venom than Howard would have liked, but while being pursued by a chihuahua/velociraptor/salamander/crocodile, Howard knew that that was the best response he would get.

“Alright, let’s start with the basics here; just what IS this cargo that’s trying to kill us?”

“Of course you didn’t read the job info... “ Marvin mumbled, head placed firmly in hand. “Okay, we were tasked with carrying a Velocihuahua-”

“Wait, is that really what it’s called?”

“-a dangerous mix of a bunch of animals that-”

“I thought I was just imagining things, but-”

“-COSTS A TON TO TRANSPORT! But at this point, I think cutting our losses and trying to kill the thing would be a better idea...”

The capitalistic gears started to turn in Howard’s head. “...Asking for a friend, how much IS that reward?”

“Both you and I know that I would never tell you.”

“...Hey Marvin.”

“What?”

“Did you know that darkness masks petty crimes?”

“...What does that-” Marvin started, only to quickly realize that Howard had stolen the job information from off of him. “H-hey!”

“Woah-HO! Are those SIX FIGURES I see?” Howard couldn’t exactly tell WHAT those six figures were, but in the eyes of a rat, six figures were six figures.

“We only get those if it’s brought back alive; guess our client wants it as a pet… the idiot.”

“Then we’ll deliver him alive!” Howard exclaimed with exuberant determination. The Velocihuahua seemed pleased by this fact, happily terrorizing the outside of the door with its vigorous claws. Marvin, on the other hand, seemed quite the opposite of pleased. In fact, one might describe his mood as furious (once again).

“Howard, there is no way on God’s green Earth that I am going to hide from that thing for 2 more days.”

“Aw, come on; what’s 2 more days?”

“I’m pretty sure that monster’s what ate the rest of our food, which leaves only TWO things left to eat on board!” Marvin gestured angrily towards himself and Howard. Howard had no way of knowing this, though, seeing as how he couldn’t see. Marvin continued anyways; “And another thing; I thought you wanted to EAT that monster!”

“That was before 6 figures became a part of the equation.”

“Howard, I’m gonna-” Before the rest of the sentence could be uttered, the remains of an antique couch crashed through the door, which definitely was not as sturdy as advertised. The Velocihuahua eyed the duo, intending to gorge on an after dinner snack.

Howard, in desperation, gripped the nearest object to defend himself with, which just happened to be a chunk of the now mutilated couch that lay before them.

Marvin reacted immediately. “Get your grubby hands off of my cou-”

“Marvin; PRIORITIES!” Howard shrieked as he launched the remnants of the sofa towards the creature. In reaction, the Velocihuahua, with the grace of a crocodile, leapt into the air, snagging the scraps directly out of the air. The seemingly insignificant plate from earlier continued to be insignificant as the gigantic reptile(?) crushed it in the most brutal way possible. This gave Howard an idea (...The Velocihuahua leaping into the air after the couch; not the very recent act of brutality).

“Marvin,” Howard whispered, “I know how much this will twist your pants, but I need you to grab a bit of your couch, and throw it out into hallway.” Howard eyed the Velocihuahua, now happily playing with the scrap thrown at it. “I want to try to guide towards the empty food storage cell and trap it. Can you do that?”

Marvin pondered this for a moment before stating, “...I think gram-gram would prefer my life over her couch. So yes, I’ll do it.” Howard sighed with relief; he didn’t want to die witnessing another tantrum.

“Okay, I’ll start,” Howard stated, creeping slowly towards the content creature.

Guiding the creature via couch ended up working surprisingly well. Howard, driven by greed, and Marvin, having finally found solace with his grandma while simultaneously unlocking his fourth wind, found themselves working like a clock for the first time since… ever. When one would throw, the other would head back to grab some more sofa in a wonderful display of reluctant teamwork. Although it took a while, the two eventually lead the Velocihuahua into the food storage cell. The duo immediately slammed the door shut and slumped over in exhaustion.

“You know, you’re much more forward thinking when it directly involves money and your own health,” Marvin commented.

“What can I say?” Howard replied, completely spent. “All we need to do now is survive for two more days without food, water, heat, oxygen, fuel, effective shelter, and some other basic necessities; then we’ll be in fat city! Easy peasy!”

Long story short; it was not easy. 

After two days of constant pain and definite dehydration, the men finally landed on Mars, blowing through the last of the fuel. Practically crawling across the landing pad, Howard and Marvin signaled their client over to them.

“We… we did it sir. One Velocihuahua, fresh and ready,” Marvin panted out between breaths, his fourth wind finally leaving him. The client, shocked by the state of the cargo men, thought about his response for a moment, realizing that it had the possibility of finishing them off for good. As the two waited with bated breath for their reward, the client finally responded.

“...I, uh, just wanted a chihuahua.”