velesdonnersen: (Default)
[Tarvek had been at Ilsa's Place, helping build armaments, but it occured to him he had to check on the drone-children and his not!wife, at home... and, ideally, pick up some more tools and equipment from his garage.]

[Perry and Catherine, the dronelings, are fine.  Just fine.  Lying on their little tummies, watchin' the good ol' TV, gnawing on a couple of red, gory...]

[Ngggg.  Not so fine.  No-no.  Not at all, not at all: Tarvek races frantically to the garage with sweet little Perry and darling Catherine racing behind him shouting 'BRAINZZZZZZZ.' At the moment Tarvek is not sure he qualifies as having any at all!  He darts to the garage, and proceeds to bolt it shut, shoving the entire washing machine in front of the padlocked door.  He checks the rest of the garage carefully: no further zombies in sight.]

[It takes him about two hours to thoroughly glean useful stuff from the garage.  He loads it carefully into the family sedan, then climbs in himself, locks all the doors -- and goes to sleep.  He's not an idiot, and he knows he works better awake and aware...and he's been up too long.  He's as safe as he's likely to get here, double-locked into a secure space, with the second safe-hole being on wheels.]

[Only after a good nap does he click the wonderful Power Garage Door Opener he's been tinkering with ever since beginning to get his Skilz Back, and goes charging through town toward Ilsa's.]
velesdonnersen: (Sadness)
 [The doghouse in the backyard of 1126 Taylor Road is turning into Tarvek's personal little corner.  He sits on the roof, with just enough shade from a shade tree, and just enough sun, and the doghouse has a flat peak, so he can sit comfortably cross-legged. He's there, today, far more sober than he's been in awhile, in more senses than one.]

[The kids run back and forth, as usual.  Tarvek's got Perry mowing the lawn again.  Catherine's been on the swings, and then jumped rope for awhile, and then she sat on Tarvek's lap for a bit, and now she's kneeling on the patio drawing with sidewalk chalks, because "Daddy" is up on the doghouse roof drawing himself.  He's working in a soft drawing pencils -- wide, flat-leaded ones, slim ones with well-sharpened points.  He's drawn the children.  He's got a good eye and hand: he trained as a draftsman, of course.  Most sparks do.  But he's also semi-canonically an actual artist, both sculpture and painting. His drawings of the kids seem to race across the pages of his notebook.]

[But the big picture he's drawing is of someone who is no longer there, and who no longer exists.  She's a bland, gentle-faced, vacuous blonde with a pretty smile, a perky nose, a classic 50s wave perm, and a dress that's trim to her upper body, but floofy around the hips and legs: all petticoats and floral print.  He's drawn her as though she's just beginning to turn to leave, raising one hand to wave as she goes.]
 
[Her name was Betty.  She was his drone wife.  He wasn't in love with her, but he found her gentle, silly, sweet, well-intentioned, and likable.  Like all drones replaced by "real" people, she's disappeared without a trace.  Not even her photos in the house remain.  Her children don't remember her.  There's no sign in all of Mayfield she ever lived. Tarvek and his quick little pencils are trying to remedy that.]
 
You are walking, flying, etc. You see Tarvek, sitting on his doghouse, drawing soberly.  His kids bustle around the back yard.  Inside you can hear someone new, singing beautifully.  Tarvek looks up from his work, sees you, and waves, calling to you in friendship, whether you're a stranger or an associate.
 
What do you do?

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velesdonnersen

March 2012

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