velesdonnersen: (Default)
[personal profile] velesdonnersen
[Verdammt, what a dream.  That's the first thing he thinks as he wakes up.  Even waking, it makes his skin crawl -- and his temper blaze.  Verdammt.  Fire and hail.  What in the name of the spark itself made him say he'd die if it was needed?  He rises, stretches, and tries to scrub the eerie sense of displacement from his skin and scalp.  He didn't feel this twitchy when Mayfield brought him through, or on waking from the several deaths the town has handed him.  He gets up, barely noticing the reliable sounds of Not!Luka!Anymore making breakfast, and Catherine and Perry preparing for school. He shucks out of his Mayfield-proper pajamas, takes a shower that doesn't seem to wash away the uneasy twitchiness. He brushes his teeth, shaves, and dresses for the day in a nice suit.  He wants to stop by Ilsa's on the way to work this morning.  He needs the reassurance she provides: the sense that he has a place in the universe, and a heart that welcomes him. He ambles down, grabs toast, a strip of bacon, and a glass of orange juice, then calls good-bye to his not!family, suddenly hungry for non-drone society.]

Action, arriving at Ilsa's, 1490 Kramden.

[Tarvek knocks on the door, and hunches into his very nice woolen coat: a proper lawyer's deep gray, tailored overcoat. He shoves his hands in his pockets and pulls his neck down like a turtle, hiding as much of his skin as he can in his cozy wool scarf. His fedora sits neatly on his head.  He dearly wants a cup of coffee and a warm hug from his liebe Ilsa. He'd even accept a friendly grunt from Egon, and a nod from the new not!child.]

Guten Morgen, Liebe!  It's cold out here.  Let a poor lost prince in, for the sake of the spark.

Date: 2011-12-20 02:06 am (UTC)
ooeeooahah: (Hm)
From: [personal profile] ooeeooahah
[ She answers the door, and lets him in without comment. She does seem to keep looking at him oddly. ]

Date: 2011-12-20 02:46 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
[Thank the gods and the little fishes, he's here. He happily slips out of his overcoat and scarf, hangs both in the coat cupboard, puts his fedora on a shelf, and schleps very contentedly into the kitchen.]

Coffee. Ilsa, have I told you I love you for your coffee? Among other things, of course. I am not so shallow as to adore you for the caffeine alone, but Red Fire, I haven't dealt with winter cold in too long.

[He pours himself a cup of coffee, doctors it to his tastes, and leans easily at the counter, smiling at her.]

Leibe, I had the most terrible dream last night... you would not believe. My sister... my dead sister, Anevka...she came back and told me I had to die to save the world. No, my world and Mayfield, both. And I agreed.


[He is very much hoping she will laugh and scold him out of this itchy, uneasy, nasty feeling that's lingered with him since waking. He doesn't like it, not at all, and is practically ready to beg to be jarred out of it.]

Date: 2011-12-20 02:49 am (UTC)
ooeeooahah: (Sad)
From: [personal profile] ooeeooahah
[ She doctors a cup for him, frowning in concentration. ]

That explains so much.

Tarvek... do you feel any different today?

Date: 2011-12-20 02:57 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
[Oh. Oh, dear. He can see this is not going well... and he's not sure why, but it's not doing a thing to make the hair on the nape of his head lie down, or stop the feeling of armies of ants marching over his ribs. Not good. So very not good...]


[He puts his coffee cup down, and moves to put an arm around her, saying,]

A dream, Ilsa. I had a dream, no more. Woke up feeling all wrong, all over. Ilsa?

Ilsa? What's wrong?

Date: 2011-12-20 03:03 am (UTC)
ooeeooahah: (Thinking)
From: [personal profile] ooeeooahah
[ Her breath catches as he reaches for her, and forces herself to calm down. ]

Dreams are dangerous. As above, so below. Mayfield has done something. We know how much it can mess with us, after this summer.

[ She seems to be trying to convince herself as much as him. ]

My perceptions are off. I can't... I can't sense you the same way this morning.

Date: 2011-12-20 03:13 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
[He doesn't miss her flinch, or her discomfort. It guts him.]


I'm here, love. I'm...look. Same me. Same coffee syrup. Same...

I was going to offer you a lift to work this morning. Want a ride?

[He can see how wrong things are going. She's looking at him not so very differently than she looks at his drone children -- as though there were spiders crawling behind the lenses of his eyes, centipedes creeping out his nostrils. As though he's the walking dead.]

Date: 2011-12-20 03:22 am (UTC)
ooeeooahah: (Tired)
From: [personal profile] ooeeooahah
[ It's worse than the drone children, because he's still acting like Tarvek instead of a Mayfield drone. ]

I know. Logically, I know. It's just - I feel like I'm looking through a warped glass, or something. This has to be their doing, something to punish us for whatever...

[ She closes her eyes and her breathing steadies. ]

It's not you, I know this, it's something the town has done.

Date: 2011-12-20 03:34 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
[He starts to put his arms around her again, and steps back, instead. He can see her shy like a nervous horse, and while he is sure she's got the spine to let him hold her, he can also see she would not enjoy it...and he's simply not the kind of man who feels anything but ill at the thought of putting her through that.]


It probably is. But...

[Closes his eyes. Not sure what he's even admitting to.]

It was a dream, Ilsa. But it... Mayfield was destroyed. My own world, it was... Anevka said I left it nothing but ash and radiation, not so different from what we had after Thanksgiving. Me. My fault. My fault here, too. I could make it different, though.

I could recognize that...


[Cringes, because part of him has always feared it anyway.]

My fault, you see. Poison everything I touch. Corrupt people just because I was born what I am, and who I am. Toxic by birth, vicious by inclination. Too vain and stubborn and stupid and arrogant to just quit and step aside for better people, real people.

Only... Ilsa, I never let that kind of thinking *stop* me before. I never let myself agree to it. I wasn't going to just lie down and quit for Gil, not for Agatha, not for anyone...

Last night...

It was a dream, love.


Last night, I did. I said if it was necessary, if the world really would be better off without me...

I said yes.

Date: 2011-12-20 03:50 am (UTC)
ooeeooahah: (stoic)
From: [personal profile] ooeeooahah
The one I know is not toxic.

[ She still is not quite looking at him, but also not hiding from him. ]

The one I love is the sort of person to try to fix things, make things better. My selfish impulse is to say my world would not be better off without him.

[ Closing her eyes again, she wraps her arms around herself. ]

There's a tradition in the way I was taught. The most valued sacrifice is the one given freely of a willing heart. I... it's hard for me to say if this is that sort of situation. If it is, I'll try to honor the spirit of it.

Date: 2011-12-20 03:58 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
[He's pissed -- not by her, but by the entire situation. But he's also sure this is not a time to try to get what he needs. He needs to howl, and drag her off to her nice, warm, dim basement hideaway, along with a bottle of decent brandy, a crate of good chocolate, and a warm blanket or two, so they could cuddle, drink, cry a bit, and comfort each other. But he already knows she'd find it no comfort.]

I've got to get to work. Are you coming in? I can give you a lift, if you want one.

Date: 2011-12-20 04:07 am (UTC)
ooeeooahah: (Tired)
From: [personal profile] ooeeooahah
[ He's not a drone, so she's getting that whole maelstrom in her face. It takes a lot of control to keep herself from screaming at him. When she does speak, her voice is quiet, if strained. ]

Yes, please. I'll just get my coat.
From: [identity profile]
[He nods. While she gets her things, he washes out his cup and retrieves his own coat. Following Mayfield and Europan manners, and in part out of sheer cussedness, he helps her put on her coat, holds the door, waits while she closes up, and graciously ushers her into the passenger seat.]

[He looks around and sees others standing on the sidewalks, even crying in shock. It occurs to him he may not be the only one Mayfield has gamed.]

It looks like it's going to be a long day, liebchen. A very long, ugly day.
ooeeooahah: (Sad)
From: [personal profile] ooeeooahah
[ She looks out the windows, watching for the ones on the list she knows. The ones she sees are all wrong. ]

I hope it will just be a day.
From: [identity profile]
[He nods, and starts the car.]

Me, too, love.

[Something tells him it won't be, though. That bad is going to get worse...and that it may never stop.]

[He's died before. Dying, in his experience, wasn't so hard: it could hurt like hell, it could be terrifying, it could be a lot of things, but mainly it was a gate you passed through. If you were lucky - and he had been so far -- you came out the other side alive again.]

[This, however, is different. He wonders, in icy fear, if for the first time he's not going to experience dying, but being dead.]

Date: 2011-12-20 04:39 am (UTC)
ooeeooahah: (Tired)
From: [personal profile] ooeeooahah
[ After seeing so many that were not who they were supposed to be, Ilsa sighs. ]

I will hope for something quick, instead of the torture I'm afraid is going to happen.

Date: 2011-12-20 04:45 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
[He things about it, sitting in the car, breath still making fog, as there's been no real time for the car to heat up. He wants to find some way of saying something quite rude to Mayfield -- to stick a bit of victory into the face of the eternal, stupid defeats.]

Ilsa, you know the way this place fools people. Plays games with them. If you can...

[He frowns, and reaches into a pocket, pulling out a note pad that works equally well for a spark or a lawyer. With an elegant mechanical pencil, he writes on a piece of paper, and tears it free, handing it to her.]

If things get bad, look at this, and remember it was true. And if you see it somewhere else, somewhere you don't expect -- believe that it still is true. No matter what Mayfield tells you, believe that somehow it's still true.

[If she looks down, she will see in Victorian copperplate lettering and decoration far more ornate than typeface can easily convey, the following: T <3 I]

Date: 2011-12-20 04:57 am (UTC)
ooeeooahah: (Shy? Pfft)
From: [personal profile] ooeeooahah
[ She stares at the slip of paper, suppressing a sniffle, then folds it gently, slipping the paper into her glove, curling her palm around it. ]


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