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It was only natural that Stanley's effects would take more packing up and sorting through than Stanford's as they readied the Shack for its new custodian. It might have gone faster were it not for the stories. Each time Stanford unearthed a new oddity Stan was only too happy to tell the story behind it. Stanford was torn between encouraging the flexing of his brother's returning memories or swerving the whole issue. The thing was, all of Stan's stories were bleak. No matter how hilarious Stanley himself considered the stories, not a one of them was anything but emotionally devastating.
So he only had himself to blame when he found the sequinned red mini-dress in a box and held it up to admire it. There was quite a lot of fabric to it, in spite of its brevity. Evidently its owner had been a rather zaftig woman. It was nice to think that his brother hadn't been totally alone for the thirty years he'd laboured over the portal.
'I didn't realise you'd had a ladyfriend at some point while I was in the portal.'
Stan turned around from an astoundingly hideous array of loud shirts that he'd been sorting through and cackled at the sight of the spangly little frock.
'That's my whorin' dress! Ain't no lady been insida that thing! Moses, it'd have to be a hefty gal to fit in that old thing!' He slapped his thigh in merriment as he carried on cackling at Ford's ridiculous assumption.
Ford's mind went horrifically blank for a moment, then far too full of awful statistics and news headlines as he groped around for a response. 'You were... a gigolo?'
That had not been the correct response as Stan doubled over, the laughter intensifying into awful mucous-y wheezing. 'Aw, that's a good 'un Poindexter! Nah, I was a good, honest whore whenever the need arose. Gotta say, if I'd stuck with fuckin' an' suckin' fer a livin' insteada getting greedy things coulda gone different.' He let out a laden sigh then grinned again. 'You found the matchin' shoes yet?'
Ford held them up by the slender ankle straps. They were quite intimidating.
'How does anyone even stay upright in these things?' He wondered aloud and his heart sank as Stan snatched them off him, doing them up with an ease that spoke of practice and he stood up to tower over Ford.
'Leave it to a trained professional, bro. While you were out in space doing your nerd shit, some of us went a different way!' He paused, looked down at the whore-red stilettoes, then the dress consideringly and nodded. 'You're right, ya never know when the need'll arise. Best take 'em with us.'
'I said nothing of the sort you knucklehead! Wait... why are you still adept at walking in those? Please don't tell me....'
'Look Sixer, the shack's a strictly tourist season kinda gig. A man's gotta eat in the off-season and you'd rather I went with the old burgle-bezzlement?'
'But you're....' It suddenly occurred to Stanford that telling his elderly, overweight brother that he was not exactly conventionally attractive might be both tactless and hurtful.
'No oil-painting.' Stan finished the thought as he plopped back down onto the bed to change back into his battered old slippers. 'Johns aren't all as fussy as that. If it's warm, breathin' and willing t'touch their weenie... eh, it'll do.' He gestured demonstrably. Graphically.
'But... why?'
'A guy's gotta eat.' Ford's stomach dropped at the flat, matter-of-fact tone. This was going to get more upsetting again wasn't it? Why was everything in this family sad? Stan fixed him with a serious stare. 'Look, I've got no qualifications t'my name and criminal records in more countries than is strictly ideal.
'Everywhere people are there's someone willing t'pay for sex. Simple economic truth, money changes hands, a service is delivered and everyone's happy! An' seeing as ho-ing ain't stricly legal, if the punter's an asshole you can kick'em in the balls and scarper if they start getting fresh with you.'
Stan leaned back with an easy smile. 'Good times.' Then he noticed whatever look it was that Ford had failed to suppress. 'Fer Chrissake Sixer, you've got that sad owl look on your face again!'
Ford closed his eyes for a second and tried to school his expression into something less 'sad owl'-like. Another thought occurred to him. 'If tourist season isn't all year around, how are Soos and Melody going to support themselves with this business?'
'Ah they'll be fine.' Stan sounded proud of the pair of youngsters he was entrusting his life's work to. 'Now the portal's down the electricity bill won't been more'n a tenth of what it was and without having to schlep about finding rare and expensive parts and materials they'll be fine.'
Fuck, there it was again. Could they have one single conversation where Ford didn't end it wanting to crawl into a hole and die? Just once? Please?
'Anyways, how many Hawaiian shirts do you think we'll need?' Stan changed the topic easily and Ford smiled.