The next morning he had a new neighbour.
It nearly made him flip over the handlebars of his bike and choke on the bite of breakfast burrito he was eating. Whenever anybody moved in to this town and increased the population of two hundred and three to another number – it was a huge deal.
Even bigger a deal for him, seeing as though the new fellow would be moving into the abandoned cottage beside his house. Brent looked at the newly renovated house. Well, if a new paint job and replacing some rotten planks was enough to be classified as such.
He raised a brow but swallowed and went on his way. Whatever, just another person to weave into the web of gossip and just another person he probably won't be speaking to.
Speaking about speaking…he'd better hurry up and get that trash can moving and talking before the first wave of tourists. Brent picked up his pace.
Hurrying into Mike's garage, Brent unlocked the door and was relieved to find the trash can and dildo controller set neatly in one corner of the room. He saw a note on the trash can and frowned a bit. It was Mike telling him how to turn the thing on, and that there was nothing un-manly about reading the manual.
Brent scoffed, he didn't need a manual.
He bent down and unplugged the trash can. Feeling along the bottom, his fingers found a notch and gave it a flick. The trash can whirred quietly to life. Satisfied, he picked up the remote control and turned that on as well. Pushing the screen out, Brent moved the dildo thing and watched as the trash can magically wheeled across the room. It was pretty nimble too, turning three hundred and sixty degrees in one spot, gracefully avoiding chunks of hardware and scrap metal. It was all good to go.
The camera was in HD too, which was cool.
But hearing his voice projected through a hidden speaker on the trash can was a bit disturbing. "Hello, I'm the trash can." Brent paused. "Talk about lame. What should I name you, trash can? Trashy is really obvious. I don't want to steal Boss's name. You're gender neutral too, but since you're using my voice, you might as well be a guy." Of course he could only speak in long sentences to himself. He wasn't particularly confident around strangers…which didn't make this job any easier.
He glanced at his watch, there was no time. The park would be open in moments and the un-named trash can would have to be on its way now.
"Guess we'll leave the name calling to the public." Brent muttered, opening the garage door. He moved the can outside and closed the door. The garage made a good place to hide out in. Nobody ever came here, and it was situated beside the main office which was in the middle of the park.
Sitting down on Mike's swivel-y chair, Brent found an innocent corner to park the can and waited for his victim.
After half an hour, an old lady approached the can, a bottle of water in hand. "I told you to throw it away earlier, hun." She was saying. Brent could see her hand move to push open the lid.
That was when he cleared his throat loudly.
The lady jumped back, another hand flew to clap her chest. "What was that?"
A little boy, maybe six or seven, came into the camera's view. "What's what Ma?" He asked, confused.
The lady smiled a little shakily, "Ah, nothing, it must have been my imagination." She moved to push the lid again.
Brent raised a brow, alright; maybe he ought to say something. "Sorry ma'am, but I'm a trash can, not a recycling bin."
The boy gasped, "It talks!" at the same time his grandmother or aunt or whatever gave a startled shriek.
"You might need to find my friend, the recycling bin, for that bottle. Though I'm very thirsty and would be glad if you poured the water into my mouth." Brent went on to say, wincing a little bit at how incredibly stupid that made him feel.
"Pass me the bottle, Ma! Pass me the bottle! Please!" The lady passed the bottle to the boy and Brent watched as he un-screwed the cap, reached into the garbage and poured the water into the can. "Better, trash can?"
Brent let out a satisfied sigh, "Much better, thank you," He tried to sound cheerful, "If you'd like, I can show you to the recycling bin."
The boy looked delighted, "Yes please! But how are you going to do that?"
"Excuse me!" Brent chirped voice all sweet and happy. The two people, one laughing and the other still stunned, moved aside. Moving the dildo controller, he moved the trash can forward. He heard a few 'Wow's and a few chuckles. He switched the Camera B and saw there were a few other people who were watching in interest. He cringed, had he not been a trash can, he would stopped and went to find a rock to hide under.
Taking a breath, he moved towards the recycling bin found by the main door. "Bottle in there please." He said to the boy.
"Does it talk too?" He asked as he dropped the bottle into the circular opening of the bright green can.
Brent chuckled, "No, it's just me."
"Wow, you must be special than."
He smiled a bit, "Being a talking trash can is pretty special."
For the rest of the day, he went around doing the same thing. He had lost count of how many people had asked him to pose for a picture, or how many people had asked him where he was, exactly. Regardless, it pleased him to surprise little children and other people. Except for that one time a man spilt his coffee onto the trash can and he had been momentarily blinded as the dark liquid ran over the cameras.
It was late in the day now, the trash can was running low on juice but the tourists had all but left the park. Brent bid goodbye to a reluctant girl and watched her family leave. When they had left, he saw the camera shake a little and heard somebody thump the head of the trash can.
Suddenly, Bob's face came a bit too close to the camera. "Oy, Brent, you hear me?"
Brent leaned away from the screen, "You could afford to move away Boss, I can see nose hairs."
That earned him a raised brow and a light chuckle, "I've never seen you do so much talking. You did good out there, son."
"I never disappoint." He said with a smirk he knew Bob wouldn't be able to see.
He hummed thoughtfully, "Time to pack up, son. Head home. Luce's got some spaghetti on your front porch apparently."
"Okay." He heard another thump and switched to Camera B. Brent watched Bob walk back into the main office. "Can't wait for dinner." Brent said, more to himself than anything.
So when a voice said 'What?', he jumped and looked around his surroundings. The garage remained empty, so it must have came from the dildo controller in his hand. Fumbling with the buttons, he turned to Camera A and felt his breath catch.
Bending in front of the camera was a very pretty young lady. She was gazing quizzically at the trash can with a pair of dark green eyes. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear and blinked. "I must be hallucinating," She was speaking softly, her speech carrying a heavy British accent, "Talking trash cans, huh."
Brent coughed, "Actually, miss, I do talk." He expected a startled yelp, or a dropped item. But all he got was a smile and a surprised raise of dark brows.
"Well, pleased to meet you, trash can." The lady smiled, "Or, anyway, the person behind the trash can." She reached out and pushed the flap back.
"How's my stomach looking?" Brent asked, amused. What did she expect to see…somebody hiding inside?
She crinkled her nose, "Positively rotten," She concluded, letting go, "You seem pretty full for a trash can that can't wait for dinner."
"Gotta eat a ton of garbage per day, miss," Brent shrugged, "Otherwise I can't grow up to be a big trash can."
She hummed thoughtfully and straightened up, "Was I too late? Is the park closed?" With her lips pulled in a slight frown; she looked around as if just noticing the serious lack of other tourists.
"Fifteen minutes away from, miss," Brent informed her, feeling disgusted at himself when he found his eyes roaming her body once she straightened up. She was dressed in simple white jeans and a blush pink T-shirt. There was a tan leather messenger bag slung across her torso, and a gleaming silver watch strapped onto her wrist. He raised a brow. This was a rich tourist.
But damn, she was fine. Her T-shirt hugged her trim tummy, and her pants sat nicely on her curved hips. Admittedly though, her bust could afford to be a bit bigger. Brent flushed and cursed away from the microphone, thank goodness she couldn't see him – or read his thoughts. He shifted uneasily in his seat.
"Ah, well," She sighed, disappointed, "I'll have lots of time to check this place out when I move here."
"You're moving here?" Had he been there in person, Brent would have probably turned a cold shoulder and shrugged, but from the comfort of the trash can, it was easier for him to be…warmer, so to speak.
"Mmhmm," She hummed, nodding, "Next week, in fact, I can't wait. This place looks absolutely charming."
He couldn't help scoffing, "There isn't much here, miss, hardly charming at all." He made the trash can back a bit, prepared to make his exit. The thing was quickly draining its last energy reserves.
"It's the perfect setting for my book," She flashed him a grin, "I love small towns like these. People are nicer and, oh," She sighed, "It's so romantic."
"Eugh," Brent made a face. Woman just loved to romanticise everything! "No romances for this humble trash can, thank you." He smiled a little when she laughed. Not the petty sort of giggle, a full out, shameless laugh. "Well, I best be on my way, miss."
"Please, call me Angelique, Mr. Trash Can," Angelique said, "I am sure we will meet again soon." She winked playfully before waving, "Goodbye!"
"Bye-bye Angelique." Brent found her name to be quite a mouthful, and it reminded him of many torturous hours learning French in school. He was never the one for languages anyway. He watched her leave before turning around and leaving himself.
Of course, he couldn't help but to notice what a nice bottom she had.
Ah, he was such a typical male. He shrugged again and opened up the garage door. Hitting on the newcomer already? And he was all but a lowly trash can.