#anyhow ty again for such a precious idea sash

[greywindys]

A little side-story from “The Answer” for @sashkash. The idea of Murdoc meeting some alpacas was too much to resist!

I’m not sure this will work as a standalone fic if you haven’t read the entire story, but you’re still welcome to read it if you’re interested! For some context, this takes place in two parts: the first is during the time Murdoc spent in Peru in chapter 21 after dispeling a family curse, and the second is when he returns with Noodle and Russel. At the start of this particular story, he’s just gone through 20 chapters of stress and anguish while on a long search for his mother, which went on with 2D. TA is a 2Doc fic, so there’s some reference to their relationship. 2D is physically absent but psychologically present. HOWEVER, the main point of all of this is that Murdoc meets and bonds with some alpacas 😭 8000 words of alpacas because I have issues! This fic also contains an OC, Victor, who is Murdoc’s mother’s friend from childhood. At this point in the story, Murdoc’s staying with him.

Fic under the cut!

It had been a few days since Murdoc said goodbye to his mother for the last time, and he was beginning to look at his life as two separate stages. There was the life he had when he didn't know her ("before Mum"), and the life that began after he woke up confused and directionless on the bank of the river ("after Mum"). 48 hours later, he still feels the frigid temperature of the water and the aches in his body. Every morning he questions who he is and how he still exists. His mind races and scrambles from one subject to another, trying to make sense of what he had just survived, until the rest of him shuts down, and he resigns himself to the old man's couch for the entire day. 

"How are you feeling today?" 

Victor. Right. That was his name. 

Murdoc is sitting in a chair at his table today, staring at a plate of scrambled egg and sausage he assumes is meant for him to eat. 

Your name is Murdoc. You're sitting in the kitchen with Victor, you're mum's friend from childhood. You feel the sun on your face through the window. You smell the eggs and sausage in front of you. 

"I..." Every part of him seems to weighed down in the chair heavy with words and emotions that would tell his story to the man sitting across from him if only he could find the strength to do so. What happened to me? He wants to ask. When am I going to feel better? It had left bits and pieces of itself all over him. His skin still burned from its touch. His heart raced when he imagined it behind him, waiting. The fork in his hand quivers with the rest of him, making small clangs as it hits the plate. He stares at it. The bones in his hand and wrist are sharply defined from the months he spent too anxious to eat. There was so little of him left, and he wonders if he isn't just a hollow frame of a person. He had defeated it, and that gave him some relief, but he doesn't know what he's supposed to do inside a body that remembered so much. 

Shadows dance across the table as people in the street pass by. They seem to reach out toward him with their curved outlines, like talons. His eyes follow them in a brief panic until he repeats his mantra to himself internally. 

His mother's friend regards him with an understanding smile. "Don't rush yourself. But please try to eat something." He then returns to reading the paper, and a comfortable silence falls over the room. 

Murdoc pokes the food around on his plate with his fork for another minute before he attempts a bite. He chews and swallows. He repeats the process again, and then again. Gradually, he begins to notice his stomach growling and the flavor of the food on his tongue and how satisfying it is to swallow it down. Baby steps, he thinks to himself, baby steps.

___________________________________________________________

The first body parts that start working again are his feet.

At least once a day, he finds himself leaving the house, choosing a street in the neighborhood and walking until his feet are sore, or his injured left leg weakens. His walks aren't scheduled. Sometimes he goes out in the afternoon, and other days, when he can't sleep, he leaves before the sun is up. Through these spontaneous and purposeless excursions, he begins to learn about the city. 

One street takes him through a large, outdoor market. Immediately, he's taken in by the smells, sounds, and colors. His feet take him past the food vendors, with all kinds of meats and produce decorating their tables. 

Mamacos, he reads on a sign above one bin. He quickly recognizes its contents as large ants and stares at them, wide-eyed, for at least a full minute.

It isn't the only unfamiliar or surprising cuisine he finds. He learns about Paiche, an Amazonian fish that can grow over two meters long, and llama jerky, and sliced cow heart. Then there are the fruits: the bright yellow pitahaya, the sour maracuya, and the smelly noni being among the most memorable. His interest piqued and his adventurous side reawakened, he impulsively buys a selection of the fruits and meats that day and eats them on a bench just outside the market. 

Before he can stop himself, he thinks about Stu, and how comically disgusted he would be.

And he thought the guinea pig was bad. 

His cheeks burn, and his heart thumps in his chest. He gulps the aching feeling of yearning down with his mouthful of Paiche.

Next, he wanders into the clothing section. The colors in this aisle are overwhelmingly vivid, like the inside of a kaleidoscope. He finds himself drawn to the intricate patterns of the blankets and ponchos at one table. 

He had a poncho in Detroit that he wore to one of their video shoots promoting solar energy. It was the first time he had sported such a garment and hadn't thought much of it after that. Now, however, he stares at them with a new curiosity. Tentatively, he reaches out a hand and takes the fabric of one of the ponchos in his hand. It's heavy and warm and comforting. As a smile emerges on his face, he thinks of her. 

The vendor greets him and asks him something in Spanish. He can only make out a couple of words. 

"Oh, er, just doing some window shopping," he says. "But, Gracias." Thank you was the only phrase he could say on the spot. 

The vendor looks at him, seemingly surprised by his accent and the way he fumbles his words. He replies in more words that Murdoc can't make out. He's friendly and accommodating, but the damage had been done. It was in these moments that it was impossible to ignore the internal voice of his that called him an outsider. He was in his fifties now, his memory was damaged by age and alcohol use, his trust in others was shaky at best. Cultivating any sort of connection outside of the tiny thread provided by Victor seemed to be an impossibility. 

He drops the fabric and waves the vendor off. "Never mind, mate. I've got other places to be." 

But he walks the same way the next day, only this time to the neighborhood beyond. The next day, he tries another direction and then another. Soon the sounds of the city become familiar from the chatter to the street music ranging from Andean folk music to top 40 hits from the 90s. He comes to know the smell of picarones and anticuchos. He cherishes the strength of the sun and the way the dust from the street clings to his skin after hours of walking.

Still, the words wouldn't come, not in conversation and not on paper. There was small talk, and between himself and Victor there was plenty of it. Murdoc would tell him about the food he tried that day, about the sloth he saw crawling through the town square. He would show him the bottle of pisco he picked up at the liquor store down the street. In return, Victor would talk to him about his shop, the neighborhood gossip, and Murdoc's mother. 

Murdoc adored those stories but they didn't make it any easier to talk about what had happened in the jungle. Yet the experience still stirred inside him. He would ignore it if he could, but its presence leaves him tense and discontent.

Eventually, he braves their public transportation with a few Peruvian soles, a bottle of rum, and the journal Stu bought him at the gas station in Texas. He has no direction in mind, only a goal to find somewhere quiet enough to sort out his thoughts.

Alone.

He shudders but acknowledges the thought. He was more alone than he ever had been, and it was likely that his life would stay this way after what he said to Stu. 

Stu.

He sinks deeper into his seat and tries to distract himself by staring out the window. He was alone, and he was changing. But he still loved to write songs and chat about himself and his interest in music. Those parts of himself were still there, and he needed to find them. He had to accomplish that before he could confront what he had done to his relationship with the singer.

The final stop at the bus leaves him in a clearing surrounded by a selection of dirt paths. He chooses one at random, and it takes him deeper into the woods. Around him, hears the drone of insects and the chatter of birds and other unidentifiable creatures hidden in the leaves. 

"It's not much quieter here than in town," he mutters to himself. 

After another five minutes of walking, the trees begin to thin, and the path on which he's walking becomes more defined. Next, a fence with heavy wood lap rails catches his eye. The sight seems to awaken the pain in his leg and brings his attention to his sore feet. The heeled boots he elected to wear weren't the best for spontaneous hiking. Spurred forward by the need for relief, he climbs onto the top rail of the fence and sits. 

The field in front of him is a deep green, rich from the water from the heavy rain from earlier in the week. And as he had hoped, there were no other people in sight. Perfect. He admires the view for a moment and takes out his journal. 

However, it doesn't take long for the forest to provide its own interruptions. 

He only manages to write a few words and a poorly done sketch of a tree before he hears it. It's a high-pitched screech, a sound he assumes would come from a monkey. However, when he turns his gaze in the sound's direction, he sees a group of deer-like animals. From a distance, they appear to be fluffy clouds, ranging in color from white to brown. The noises continue.

Murdoc stares them down with an annoyed glare and returns to his work. 

I waited until Stu was out of sight, he writes. 

The animals seem to screech louder. 

Murdoc lets out a frustrated growl and scrapes the pen across the paper with a heightened sense of resolve. He listened to me when I told him to leave, that's the kicker. And I...

He hears another screech. 

"Oh, shut up!" He snaps, only to find them just a few feet away from him. Now, he can get a better look at them. 

Llamas? 

They stare at him, and he stares back. There are more pairs of eyes on him than there have been in a long time. Though it's somewhat unsettling, he's grateful that they're quiet. And with a grunt of approval, he tries to write. 

He doesn't notice them walk towards him until he feels the soft bump of a nose against his knee. It nearly shocks him backward off the fence. In a precipitous attempt to avoid falling, he drops his journal and digs his nails into the wood. The book falls inside the fence and is immediately trampled, but he holds steady. 

Their screeching has settled into a low hum, like a small orchestra of kazoos, or the theremin noises Stu would sometimes use to soothe him when he was anxious. Murdoc decides he likes the llamas' noises better. Unlike the theremin noises, the llama noises didn't incapacitate him, or "tranquilize him with sound," as Stu used to say. 

The llama nuzzling him is white and has a considerably distinct tuft of fleece growing on its head. It looks so soft Murdoc can't resist patting it. In response, it jumps away. The others follow. 

Sighing, Murdoc returns to his work. 

Soon enough, they return to him. The white llama slowly approaches him again. This time he waits to see what it wants to do. Again, it nudges at his knee. Then it nibbles at the fabric of his pants. The sensation of its teeth tickles, and it causes him to laugh. He wants to pet its head again but stops himself. Instead, he listens to their humming until he loses track of time. 

"So there I was, in the middle of the jungle..." He tells Victor later that night. "And out in the open, no more than a couple meters away from me was an entire pack of llamas!" 

"In the wild? That would be surprising. This isn't their natural habitat. If you see them, they usually belong to one of the farmers in the area." 

"Well, yeah. They were inside the fence," he concedes. "But they came right up to me."

"They probably thought you were there to feed them," Victor says. 

"I only wrote a couple sentences, but I'd bet you money that I pet each and every one of them. They couldn't get enough of me." He leans back in his chair. "Did my mum have a llama? Did she like them?" 

Victor laughs. "I wouldn't have trusted your mother with a house plant. She was a lot like you." 

Murdoc gives him a look of suspicion. "Go on..." 

"You're not always...interested in animals." 

His answer was diplomatic enough. "That's true. But these llamas weren't so bad...never expected them to make so much noise, but after they settled down, they just stood by me and ate grass." Besides their theremin-like noises, something was calming about another living thing simply be present, and not expect anything of him. 

He spends the next few days wandering down the different paths, all of which lead him through more forest and nowhere to sit. And nothing lives up to the fluffy wool of the llamas and their soothing sounds. 

After enough trial and error, he returns to the field and finds them in the same place as the beginning of the week. This time, they approach him without screeching at him. The white one leads them over and goes back to nudging and sniffing him as if to pick up from where it left off. He spends most of the afternoon from there running his hand along their necks and listening to their odd, yet comforting, sounds. His journal still bent and stained with mud, sits on the grass outside the fence. 

He returns the next day and then the next. The words begin to make successful journeys from his brain to his notebook by the fifth visit. He's crouched inside the fence with them that day, studying the page in front of him. He hardly notices the squelch of the moist ground under their hooves or the way they trot around him and mouth at the grass. It isn't until a flash of white obscures his vision, and he feels the warm wool against his cheek, that his concentration breaks. The white llama's head rests against his chest as it seems to embrace him with its neck. 

Murdoc isn't sure how to react, thinking that it's going to try to eat the paper of his notebook. But he soon notices other llamas in similar poses. Some are resting against each other, others curl their neck around the other as if they're hugging. He relaxes, inhaling the air around him. The llama's wool carries the smell of the earth; rain, dirt, grass. He strokes its neck and rests his head on its shoulder. 

That day, he writes down his first account of meeting his mother.

"Do you lot ever get bored out here?" He pets the white llama with his left hand and writes with the other. It's his eighth visit, and he's started having one-sided conversations with them. "All I ever see you do is eat." 

Another llama tries to nudge his hand in an appeal for his attention, but the white one stops it. Murdoc is surprised to see it turn and spit at the other llama. It gives it a warning squawk as it retreats. 

"Oi, be nice," he chides it, though he doesn't stop his petting. "You're a fine old chap but I'm here to visit all of you." The white one was always the first one to greet him, though, and he would be lying to himself to say he didn't notice it. 

Suddenly, he hears other voices. They're faint at first, but it isn't long before he makes out two figures standing across the field. One is pointing in his direction. They start walking towards him.

Murdoc gulps and hastily tries to dismount the fence. He isn't so graceful this time and hits the grass with a soft thud. Unsure of what they want but certain that he isn't wanted there, he runs off before they get too close. 

"You look upset," Victor observes at dinner. 

"I need to ask you a favor," he says. 

"Yes?"

"You know the llama farm I've been frequenting? I, er, met the owners today...sort of. They didn't look too excited to see me." He picks at the food on his plate with his fork. 

"They were probably surprised to see a stranger on their property." 

"Maybe to them I am, but I've become quite chummy with their livestock." He turns his gaze to him. "So, I was wondering if you would go back with me tomorrow and tell them that. In case you've forgotten, I'm not exactly the bilingual prodigy that I used to be...I'd like to continue my visits." 

"I see..." The older man hides it well, but Murdoc picks up on his perplexion. 

"I've been writing a lot," he offers. "Pages upon pages. It's like I'm bloody battery-powered out there." 

"Uh-huh."

"You know," he continues. "It's not every day that I meet an animal that likes me, let alone an entire pack of them. And it's not as if I have any..." He stops himself before he can say "friends." But outside of Victor, he hadn't bonded with anyone else in town. The language barrier was a significant part of it, but it was also due to his own wariness of the world as of late. 

"...Alright," Victor says after a long pause. 

They make the trip to the farm the following day. 

"You've been hiking this far?" The older man sounds surprised. "And staying out here...all day?"

"What? I don't look outdoors-y enough for you?" Murdoc swats an insect away from his face. "Bugger off," he snaps at it. 

"You're feet wouldn't hurt as much in the evening if you wore different shoes." 

Murdoc glances down at his boots. "Not a chance."  

After a few more minutes, the fence is within his line of sight. 

"There it is!" Then he points to the herd of llamas in the distance. "And there they are." He has a bag of llama and alpaca pellets with him that he purchased from the store that morning, and he takes it out of his jacket pocket. 

He hears Victor chuckle behind him.

"What?" He says. 

"Murdoc, those aren't llamas. Those are alpacas." 

"Alpacas?" Murdoc stares at them. They look like llamas. 

"Alpacas are smaller than llamas and are very special in our country. They were said to be a gift from the goddess, Pachamama, to the people of Andean Highlands thousands of years ago. We hold them in great respect to this day." 

"Alpacas," he repeats. This was the first time he had heard the word, alpaca.

Victor leans over the fence and watches them. "Yo soy vicuñita y vengo de la Puna," he sings. "Vengo escapando de los cazadores." He repeats the lines before moving into the second verse. "Ay guei vicuñita rishpi japi sonka. Ay guei vicuñita rishpi japi sonka."  

Murdoc leans against the fence next to him, shifting his weight awkwardly as he listens. 

"It's a lullaby," Victor informs him. "My niece always sang it to her son when he was little. One verse is in Spanish, the other is in Quechua. 'In English, it would be..." he thinks. "'I am a vicuña and I come from the Puna, I come, having escaped from the hunters. Oh my, the little vicuna goes everywhere with all its heart. Oh my, the little vicuna goes everywhere with all its heart.' Vicuña' means alpaca."

They're all gathered at the fence, humming. Murdoc holds out his hand to them. "Vicuña," he says, trying to get a grasp of the pronunciation. "I, er, hadn't heard of you before today. But, uh, I've respecting them." He glances back at Victor nervously. 

"So, uh, anyway. You see this one?" He motions towards the white alpaca as it eats. "He's my best mate of the pack. I've decided to call him, Beleth, after the demon. He's not as well know as Beezlebub or Belphegor, but he commands five armies and he likes music. This Beleth commands an army of llam- I mean, alpacas, so I thought it fit." 

"If they're letting you get that close, you must be," Victor says. "It can take some time to earn their trust. They're curious, but timid animals. But Murdoc, you know that all of these alpacas already have an owner..."

Murdoc beams. "And you know what? I respect that story you told. In Britain, they're always going on about our football team being lions as if lions are native to the United Kingdom. It's all bollocks. At least in Peru, you revere animals that got their start on the same continent." 

He holds out both of his hands, and more alpacas gather around him. Their bottom teeth scrape his palms, cleaning off every last bit of food. Then they nudge him eagerly for more. There was a layer of guilelessness to their impatience. They were never angry at him, and they never held a grudge when he ran out of food before they all got a turn. They never made him feel like he had to stay longer than he wanted to. They didn't know about his past, and even if they did, he doesn't believe they would judge him for it. He felt happy when they were happy, and he could always expect them to be there. 

He laughs at the sensation. 

"How about I go find their owner?" He hears Victor say behind him. 

"Yeah, yeah...shit!" He jumps in surprise when he gets caught in the crossfire of one alpaca spitting at another. 

Victor returns about an hour later. An old woman accompanies him. Her gray hair is tied neatly in a bun, and she's hunched over with age. Still, she matches his stride without the use of a cane or walker. 

As they approach, Murdoc feels self-conscious. He considers how ridiculous he must look, standing around in mud-stained clothes, surrounded by animals that didn't belong to him. It wasn't like him. No one from home would recognize him if they saw him as he was now. 

"Murdoc," Victor says. "This is señora Murillo. The alpacas have been in her family for over five generations. She wants to know what you are doing here." 

"Oh, uh..." Murdoc flit from the alpacas to the ground to the forest in the distance. "I'm just writing and, er...feeding them?" He grins sheepishly. 

The woman turns to Victor and whispers something to him.

"She can speak up," Murdoc says. "I can't understand anything she says anyway." 

The woman stops speaking and stares him down. 

"...But only if that's easier for her," he speaks rapidly. "Whatever volume suits her..." 

"She is asking if you have ever raised alpacas." 

"Uhhh, no."

"She wants to know what you intend to do from here." 

"I'd like to keep visiting," he says. "In case you couldn't tell, they love me." 

The woman whispers more harshly. She and Victor converse.

"...Please?" Murdoc adds. 

"She thinks your request is odd, but she will agree to it." 

Murdoc sighs in relief. 

"But you must notify her when you're coming. Someone from her family will be there to watch you while you visit." 

"What? Why?" Part of what made him feel so comfortable with them was the absence of other people.

"She doesn't know you, and she thinks your reasons for coming are strange. She also tells me that you should be prepared to help with their care if they find you capable of doing so." 

Murdoc can feel his excitement dulling as the list of conditions grows. "Do...do I have to? I just want to pet them." He frowns. "She's has kids. Hasn't she ever watch any of those movies where the lonely person meets the horse, or the dog, or the...I don't know...sheep, forges a lifelong friendship and saves the town?!" He tries to recall as many famous works about animals as he can. "She knows she could have the next War Horse here in her pasture, right? I could find her the next horse from War Horse or the next Lassie!... Except you know, with alpacas." 

Victor smiles sympathetically at him and passes along his final plea. "She hasn't heard of either of those animals and says that her offer is final. She would also like me to tell you that your friend's name is Ofelia, and that he is a she." 

Murdoc turns to the white alpaca, formerly and fleetingly known to him as Beleth, and silently nods in understanding. "Alright then..." 

"So, what do you think?" 

 He runs his hand through Ofelia's wool, recalling the way Stu used to word his fingers through his hair. He tries to match his tenderness in return for the trust the animals have so willingly given him. "I'll give it a go, I guess." What else did he have? 

Having another person there is an adjustment. Murdoc realizes soon that it isn't so much the person that bothers him as it is their judgments about him. He can't help but assume the family members spending time with him are bored with him. And as a self-identified entertainer, he can't help but feel a sense of failure.

But even when he doesn't get any writing complete there, he notices changes outside of his visits. He aches less in the morning when he wakes up. It becomes easier to leave Victor's house without any alcohol in his bag. He eats lunch regularly out in the field with the animals. Soon, he begins to speak. 

He tells Victor what happened in the jungle a few days later, sitting in the grass surrounded by them as they eat hay from his hand, nibble at other parts of his clothes, and nuzzle him. The words tumble out of him in irregular bursts between his sniffs and pauses. They create an uneven rhythm anchored by the steady hums.

"I feel like shit," he says. "Because she could have survived this. She could have stayed with you. I would have found my way out of my dad's hell hole one way or another. She shouldn't have had to..." 

The older man listens to him in silence, his eyes downcast. 

"I think that's what I can't let go," Murdoc continues. "Why did it have to be either her or myself?" 

"She wasn't going to leave you, Murdoc, not with him. And she would never have escaped what he did, even if she stayed in Peru." 

"If you don't fuck the world over, it fucks you over. I hate it. I hate what it did to me. There's so much that I'll never have." 

"I never wanted to say goodbye to your mother," Victor says gently. "You're having to let her go as her son must have been harder than I could ever imagine. But, Murdoc, you did everything she knew you could. You finished what she couldn't, and you found her. Neither of you will have to worry about the curse ever again. She's happy, and that's all I ever wanted for her. Now, that's what I want for you." 

Murdoc mulls over his words. He can't accept them. It's not fair, he wants to say. He wants to destroy something. Perhaps he would drive his fist into the fence or tear his journal apart. Anything to get rid of the anger stirring inside him. 

He clenches his jaw. You're in your fifties, Murdoc, he tells himself. You're too old for temper tantrums. He leans against the soft fleece of the alpaca behind him and breathes. 

As the days pass, the words become easier. Señora Murillo's family proves to be less of a distraction than he anticipated. Often, it's her son who stays with him. He spends most of his time playing games on his phone than watching Murdoc. However, he eventually shows him around the farm so that he can learn where they keep their hay, and where their shelter is with their water basin. 

Murdoc does his own research in the evenings, learning about what plants are poisonous to them and what their different noises mean. He becomes comfortable sitting with them, and following them around the field as he thinks. 

"I forget if I ever told you this, but thank you," he tells Victor one day. He's balancing a mound of woven yarn in his lap as he sits on the fence. Some of the pieces have been cut into strands about a foot long, and rest across his left thigh. The uncut yarn is positioned on his other leg.

"Oh?" He seems surprised. "You're welcome." 

"For, uh, letting me stay with you," he says. He measures a strand of yarn against the one he had previously cut and slices it with his knife. "And for booking me this gig. I probably would have been plastered on your couch without it." 

"That was also your doing," Victor says. "You wouldn't have found this place if you had stayed inside the house." 

"And here I am, practically knitting for an elderly woman and her herd of alpacas." He measures another strand of yarn. Señora Murillo needed more tassels new halters for her animals. The first strand was cut for him, and he was instructed to cut the rest. She would weave them all together later that week. "The strolls I went on in the states didn't use to end like this," he says. 

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know how many liquor stores they have in Detroit?" That was always where he started. "America and its bloody liquor stores. Then, of course, there were always the pubs. They're not quite as cozy and warm as the pubs in England, but I'm not a picky man. But now, I'm distracted." 

He shoos an alpaca away after it reaches for the yarn. "I'm doing this for you, you know. Since when is hay orange?" 

"They're doing a good job keeping you busy. I bet you could work here if you wanted to," Victor says. "Have you thought about what you will do?"

"Mate, I've been trying not to think about anything." Measure and cut. That's all he wants on his mind right now. "Except when I'm writing."  

"Well, if you plan to stay longer than six months, I'd like you to find a source of income. You don't have to make any decisions now, but it's something to think about. Señora Murillo has been very appreciative of your work here. And you seem to enjoy it."

Murdoc watches the herd trot around the field. They move as a unit with Ofelia at the front. He's come to learn that she's the dominant alpaca of the group. She was always the first to greet him or eat from his hand. It made sense in retrospect.

"This was something Stu always went on about," he says. It's the first time he's uttered the singer's name since he told him to go home. "Farming. Living out in the middle of a field or in the woods, just the two of us." 

Measure and cut, he tries to redirect his brain. 

But Stu is everywhere. He sees his hair in the sky, his frame in the tall trees. And when they hum, he hears those stupid theremin noises he used to make. Guilt and longing weigh down on his chest. "As it turns out, I don't mind it so much." He doesn't want to think about Stu, but at the same time, he misses him.

Victor listens in silence. 

"I shouldn't have yelled at him," Murdoc says. "He had a lot more figured out than I ever did...I just couldn't see it."

"You had a lot clouding your mind at the time." 

"I'm a bloody idiot." 

"No, you're not, Murdoc. You're figuring yourself out." 

"When I'm out here, I don't have to think about him. I don't have to think about where I'll be next year or next week." He suddenly has the urge to throw the yarn on the ground. "Fuck it! I'm avoiding everything." 

"Do you want to call him?" 

"No," he answers quickly. "I mean...not now. I...I don't want to, not at the moment."

They stay in the presence of each other in silence until Murdoc falls back into the rhythm of measuring and cutting the yarn. 

"Anyhow," he says. "About the table you have in the market...How are you lot advertising?" 

"Advertising?" 

Murdoc closes his eyes and imagines a page in his notebook. "Yeah. You know, enticing the public to purchase your wares is an art form of its own. Do you use the TV or radio?"

Victor shrugs. "We set up our table every weekend. We're always in the same spot. People have come to know us." 

"Oh come on, don't tell me you've never had an elevator pitch." 

He shakes his head. 

"What if I helped you out with that?" Suddenly, his hands are quivering in excitement at what he anticipates might turn into a new, albeit temporary purpose. "I've got some chords written down. They aren't much, but I could turn them into something, send it to the radio. You'll have new customers fighting over your ayahuasca vials faster than you can blink." 

"You mean like a song?"

"A little jingle. You know, as you hear in commercials." He had never thought highly of the task. People who wrote songs for commercials had always been unfortunate sods who never made it big in his eyes. Who would have predicted that years later, he would be practically begging to write one himself? "I'd like to do that for you...as a thank you...and perhaps to buy myself some time before getting that job you speak of." 

Victor laughs. "I still haven't heard much of your music, but to be successful, you must be talented. And you are your mother's son. I'll accept your offer." He pats Murdoc gently on the back. "And the job is only a requirement if you intend to stay." 

Murdoc's eyes take in the field in front of him. The alpacas have lost interest in him for the time being, and have gathered under one of the trees. "This is the most at home I've felt since I woke up in the river," he says. The alienation he had struggled with in the beginning was beginning to fade as images of himself on the farm grew clearer. For once, he could see himself as part of the country rather than a stranger in it. Surely he could adjust to staying. "So I guess I'm here. I don't know what else I've got at the moment." 

Victor joins him at the fence. "Does this feel right to you?"

He would always feel the absence of his mother and of Stu. However, his mother was dead, and Stu probably hated him. There was nothing left for him anywhere else. Perhaps he could make up the time his mother lost by living in her country. He had a chance to be anything: a waiter, a fisherman, an alpaca farmer. He could even go back to school once he got a better grasp of the language. It was possible to get used to life in Peru if he tried. "Yeah," he says. "As right as it's going to get." 

But he doesn't know. He wants to believe he could belong, but Gorillaz would always be there. Stu would always be there. Why couldn't he stop thinking about him? Was it the natural progression of a break-up, or did it mean something more? His mind drifts to the singer's journal, still stored at the bottom of his backpack.

"You might be surprised at how much you still have."

___________________________________________

One year later...

"We're almost there." The trail to the farm hasn't changed since he left on the final flight back to Detroit. 

"Jeez, Muds. You hiked all the way out here? More than once?" Russel trails behind him, gawking at their surroundings. 

"Nearly every day for an entire month," Murdoc says. "Hurry it up, Russ. I'm not about to let any of you slow me down. You're lucky I'm showing you any of this." 

The seasons in South America are the opposite of seasons in the states. Electing to escape the Michigan heat, Murdoc decides to return to the country during their summer and Peru's winter. He hadn't planned to invite along the rest of his band. In fact, even after two days in the country, he was still warming up to the idea.

"Calm down, Murdoc." Noodle walks next to him, occasionally snapping pictures of their surroundings with her phone. "I never thought I'd say 'Murdoc' and 'hiking' in the same sentence either." 

Murdoc isn't in the mood to be teased. Holding back his emotions when he saw Victor again was enough. Even more difficult; his arrival in the country. He remembers how his eyes watered as the plane descended and how he struggled to blink back his tears. This trip was emotional for him in ways they could never understand. 

"Well," he says, pushing away his irritation just as he had done to his other feelings. He's starting to wish it was only him and Victor. "What can I say, I'm a man of many surprises." 

"And there are still a few surprises left," Victor says. "There seems to be some tension between you. I think this visit will provide some relief."

"It's so beautiful," Noodle remarks. "Would you mind if I share the pictures I'm taking? So many people have lost their connection to the natural world, and while they may not be here in person, maybe if they see these pictures they will be reminded." 

"Yeah," Russel says. "The world's rainforests are under a constant threat of being destroyed by the wealthy. The indigenous activists doing the work to protect them need all the publicity they can get." 

"We'll talk about that later," Murdoc says. "The last thing I want is for Senora Murillo to be swarmed by obsessive fans looking for internet points or their next photo-op." Finally, he sees the familiar wooden fence. 

"She does prefer to live a quiet life," Victor says as Murdoc starts to walk more quickly towards the fence. 

Once he sees the alpacas, he doesn't wait for the rest of them. They look the same way they did when he left them. Pulling some food out of his pocket, he climbs over the fence and into the field with them. "Remember me?" He asks. 

Ofelia is the first one to greet him, her neck adorned with the colorful tassels he remembers measuring out days before he left for Detroit. She hums into his hand as she eats. The others follow. "You're all here." A smile cracks on his face. "Ofelia, Beatriz, Pilar, Luna, Sofia, Rosa...uh..." He looks over at Victor. "Did she get more?" 

"Yes, a few from her niece. Take a closer look."

"Okay, now this is getting freaky," Russel says. 

Noodle reaches her hand through the fence, waiting for one of them to come over. "They're adorable!"

"Murdoc would come here every day when he was staying with me." 

"Yeah, and I found it all by myself." Murdoc crouches down lower so that he's more level with them. "This here is Ofelia. She was my best mate here." He scratches her neck, and she spits at another alpaca who gets too close. "She knows what it's like to be a leader." 

Victor laughs. "You aren't looking."

"What?" Murdoc asks, confused.

"Hey there, buddy." Russel follows Noodle and reaches his hand in as well. "Were you Murdoc's only friend?" 

"Alpacas?" Noodle holds her camera close enough to take a picture. "How sweet! And they like you back, Muds?" 

"Alpacas have long memories," Victor says. "Even when Murdoc had to leave on such short notice, they'll always remember how he kept them company." 

"Awww." Noodle pets Pilar on the head. "Did Muds ghost you, too?" 

"They don't like to be petted on the head." Murdoc shoots a glare at both of them. As if on queue, Pilar moves away from Noodle as well. "And I came back, didn't I? Just like I came back to you lot, though I'm questioning that decision."

"We're all familiar with Murdoc's impulsive decisions," Victor says. "And we also know that he maintains the bonds that matter to him. You're both important to him, just as much as Stuart. I understood when he told me he had to go back to America, as did Señora Murillo. I'm sure his alpaca friends did as well." 

"Exactly," Murdoc snaps. "I almost stayed here...I hope you know that. Maybe you think it's funny, but these bloody animals gave me a sense of stability. And yes, they helped me remember how to form an actual connection with another living thing."

His words, though somewhat harsh, seems to get through to them. 

Noodle regards him with a sense of sympathy. "I see that. I'm sorry if I didn't seem to be taking all of this seriously."

"Yeah, man," Russel says. "This is a beautiful place, and I can see why you would want to keep coming back. It sounds like we owe a lot to it too." He turns to Victor. "In case we don't get to meet her, can you give Senora Murillo a thank you from us?" 

"Of course," he says. "Señora Murillo also left a message for you, Murdoc." 

Murdoc looks up. "Oh?"

"She first says that she hopes you like the halters she made. And..." Victor points into the fence. 

Murdoc follows his finger. "What?" 

A wide grin breaks out on Noodle's face. "Oh, I didn't see that one hidden there!"

Then he sees it, beside Ofelia. "Is that...?"

"Yes, Ofelia gave birth to a baby boy this spring. He's called Paolo, after the football player." 

"You're a mum now?" Murdoc scratches her neck, a sudden feeling of excitement spiking through him. "Well, I guess that makes me an uncle, right? Hello! Your mum and I go way back."

"By the way, do they bite?" Russel asks. 

"No." Murdoc sits down in the grass. "If you look closely, you'll see they don't have any top teeth. But that doesn't mean you can make any sudden movements towards them if they don't know you. Wait for them to come to you, or you'll scare them off." 

The baby alpaca watches him from his mother's side. Murdoc smiles at him as he continues to feed the rest of the herd. He was getting used to waiting. A year had passed and he was still waiting to see the vibrant blue of his hair and to hear the rich emotion in his voice when he sang. He was waiting to feel the calloused yet delicate touch of his fingers on his skin. But he was learning that distance could also be a source of healing. He was prepared to provide the baby alpaca with all the time he needed to feel comfortable enough to approach him. 

"Hey, Muds," Russel says. "I'm gonna start out by saying that I don't mean this as an insult, okay? You seem...very chill in there. I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone watching you. But it's cool. I like it." 

"He isn't the biggest fan of animals, and he isn't the best pet owner." Noodle is talking to Victor. "So this is, uh, new for us."

"It was a surprise for me as well," Victor says. "Murdoc wasn't any more fond of the animals here than back home, not at first. However, señora Murillo is grateful for the help he provided. He was very reliable, and he treated the animals well." 

As they talk, the baby alpaca begins walking toward him. Murdoc tries to remain focused on the other alpacas as he gets closer. "Thanks, mate," he says to Victor. "There you have it. I don't cock up everything."

"Hey, if we get to know them well enough, can we hang in the alpaca field with you?" Russel asks.

"No! Not if you're going to try to stuff them like you do every other animal you meet." 

"I only do that to animals after they're already dead." Russel turns to Victor. "Taxidermy." 

"They look so fuzzy." Noodle takes another picture. "I read that they use their wool for clothing." 

"We weave a lot of clothing from alpaca wool. I'll take you to the market tomorrow, and you can take a look at some of the garments. I have a few gifts for Murdoc that you can see as well if he chooses to open them tonight." 

The baby alpaca is right beside him now, watching him with curiosity. 

"Hey there," he says, brightening. Tentatively, he starts to pet his neck, his fingers curling around the tassels in his fleece. "Is this alright? How about mum?" He turns to the Ofelia, but she and the rest of the alpacas seem far more interested in the food in his pockets. "Hey, Victor," he says.

"Yes?" 

"Do you think I can...uh...pick him up?" He had seen señora Murillo and her family do it more times than he could count. Yet he had never held a baby alpaca on his own. 

"Of course you can, Murdoc."

"Ooooh, do it!" Noodle cheers excitedly. It had been a while since he has seen her that animated.

"Okay, here it goes." He scoops him up gingerly. "You alright there?" he asks again, still uncertain of himself in a care-giving role. 

Paolo looks at him, and then at the field from his new, elevated position. He remains unphased.

"Is this okay?" Murdoc asks him, even though he knows he can't respond. "You're in good hands here. Did you know that? Don't worry. I won't let Russ stuff you." 

"Really, Muds?" Russel rolls his eyes.

"How sweet!" Noodle exclaims. "He really seems to like you, Murdoc!" 

"He does?" Murdoc asks hopefully. "I mean, of course, he does. He's my little...uh...what's the word? Vica...vicu...?" 

"Vicuña," Victor says. 

"Vicuña." Murdoc sounds it out the best that he can. "How did that song you sang go again? Something about a vicuña from the mountains?" 

"Yo soy vicuñita y vengo de la Puna," Victor says. "Or, 'I am a vicuña and I come from the Puna.'"

"I am a vicuña and I come from the Puna," Murdoc sings, as softly as he can, to the alpaca. "I am a vicuña and I come from the Puna." 

"Vengo escapando de los cazadores. 'I come, having escaped from the hunters." 

"I come, having escaped from the hunters." His voice sounded rough and shaky as it always did, but right now, he doesn't care.

"Ay guei vicuñita rishpi japi sonka," Victor continues to lead him along. "Oh my, the little vicuna goes everywhere with all its heart." 

"Oh my, the little vicuna goes everywhere with all its heart." He hugs the alpaca closer, feeling the fuzz fleece against his cheek. The hesitancy and frustration of the trip begin to fall off of him the way the alpaca's fleece did when they were sheared. He allows the joy he's feeling to find its way to his face. "Welcome to the world," he tells him. 

The baby alpaca was at the beginning of his life. There would be so much for him to see and learn, everything would be new. Murdoc remembers a time when 'new' used to scare him. But holding Paolo close, he tries to embrace the excitement he feels. They had both taken their first steps in the country on trembling legs, they were both finding their way, and they weren't doing it on their own.

"You're going to live a spectacular life," he says. "It's a big world, but you're ready." He cradles him there, and sings again, "Oh my, the little vicuna goes everywhere with all its heart."

end.

Hope you enjoyed! I only started researching alpacas over the past couple of weeks, so if you’re reading this and by any chance have experience working with alpacas and spot some errors in the information I have, please feel free to correct me!