velesdonnersen: (Default)
[Tarvek gets to the Bakery first. He's so excited: he's going to get to meet a real, entirely sentient, self-willed Muse! Eeeeeeeee!]

[He orders a cup of coffee and waits, hoping Ilsa arrives first, so that Dakki Sigal is comfortable when she gets here.
velesdonnersen: (Default)
[Tarvek dozes beside Ilsa, on the sofa bed in the home office. She's back, and there's little that makes him even one tenth so happy... The blankets are piled high, pillows are tucked around them, and he can lie half-dozing, watching her through the veil of half-lowered lashes.]

velesdonnersen: (Default)
[Tarvek has watched the amazing parade of people marching through Ilsa's house, eating her food, chatting with her.  She's such a well-loved lady, with so many friends.  He considers her queenly, regal, a hostess and a sheltering friend.]

[He helps her clean up, after people go, putting leftovers-- what few there are-- into the strange plastic storage containers. (He "burps" them, just as she taught him.  He always laughs when he does it.]  They wipe the counters, prepare things for tomorrow's meals.  When they've finished... there's no sign of Egon. He looks at Ilsa, and says, softly,]

Do you want to go for a drive?  It's been a hard day.
velesdonnersen: (HappyCute)
[Tarvek has been busy-busy-busy making costumes.  He's got one for Ilsa, a beautiful knight's armor, weapons and accessories for Nall, and he's working on his own costume, chuckling over the details.]

[The house is now occupied once more by drones and Tarvek, and he's taken advantage to convert every bit of space he can reasonably ransack to his work, but the main costume shop is in the garage.  He's taken over the drone Betty-Luka's sewing machine, her iron and ironing board, he's usurped her laundry area.  He's got dummies he's constructed all over the place.

Today he's sitting cross-legged on his own workbench, tailor-fashion, as he carefully creates the graceful curve of a coat lapel for himself.]

[He's expecting Ilsa, and possibly Nall to come on over and see what he's up to.]
velesdonnersen: (Default)
[Tarvek is a weekend sight to see: he ambles from the house in neat chinos, with a short sleeved, blue-checked  oxford style sport shirt, with a pair of docksiders on his feet.  In his own opinion the only off-element would be the ugly glasses. Poor boy.  Such a blow to his amour propre. ]

[He waves to neighbors, considers the state of the grass (needs mowing, must ask Perry to do that chore for fifty cents), admires his convertible, and arrives at the mailbox.  Inside there is a small, slim box, longer than it is wide.   He is now enough of a Mayfield resident that his heartbeat picks up.  There was day when Ilsa was kill-droned... It would make sense for him to get a little "present' from Mayfield, now.]

[His hands tremble slightly, as he peels the celophane tape back with one thumbnail. Fearing to look, he slips a finger in, finding a piece of paper, first.  He draws it out. On the paper is printed, carefully, what he is just spark enough to see first as an infinity symbol.  Then his breath catches, and he can't bear it any more.  He shakes the contents out onto his palm.]

[The pince-nez, HIS pince-nez, glitter in the bright, eternal Mayfield sunshine. To his surprise and dismay, he finds he's almost crying.  More than anything so far, this gift shakes him up, forcing homesickness on him, making him aware that, for all the terrible things he doesn't miss, he does still miss HOME. And, yet, at the same time, they make him feel like himself again.  With great dignity he slips his horn rims from his face, folds them, and tucks them in the breast pocket of his shirt. (He knows a wise man is never without spare glasses.) He puts on the pince-nez.... Then he races inside, and picks up the phone.]


Ilsa?  Ilsa, can I come over?  Please?  I... I want to see you.
velesdonnersen: (Default)

[Tarvek has been shifting in and out of his own memories all day, alternating between an uneasy but convinced native Mayfield POV, and a frantic, panic-stricken Europan Spark-Prince convinced he's being mind-controled: which, of course, he is. He's seen Ilsa, but failed to accomplish much.  He's taken part in baseball, sack races, picnic with potato salad and fried chicken.  Now dusk is falling, and while the big show has yet to begin, dozens of daredevil little Mayfield scamps are already beginning to "light up."  Firecrackers, that is.]
[Tarvek, leaning against a big maple tree in the park, hears a muttering, raucous, edgy burst of laughter near the hedge line at one side of the parking area... the sound of adolescent boys who are about to cross a line they know they shouldn't.  After all, this is Mayfield, and boys will be boys.  The Mayfield father in Tarvek knows, just as surely, that it's time to serve as a role model to Mayfield youth, for Father Knows Best.] 
[Excusing himself from his wife and children, he rises and followed the whoops and chortling, only to find a small cat backed up against the impenetrable wall of the fence, scared as a gang of boys reach and grab.  Some have firecrackers, and some have string, and still others have matches, and all are planning how to tie the firecrackers to the cat and set them off.]
[Reality once more crawls for Tarvek. His eyes see two things -- a small, helpless cat, and an equally small, helpless Nall-the-not-cat, his draconic friend.  Both Mayfield Tarvek and Europan Tarvek, however, know what to do.  With a firm, certain shout he calls the boys to order, striding forward through their gathered ranks, grabbing the little cat by the scruff and quickly wrapping it in a confining but gentle hug.]
"Boys, that's not how we do things.  Not here in America, and not in Mayfield.  This great country of ours was founded on principles intended to protect the weak from the strong, to give rights to those cast aside, to defend the liberty of all.  We are a nation of protectors and defenders, and so shall it ever be."
[He staggers out, cat still held firm to his chest, unsure of himself.  He's Europan Tarvek again, for one moment, stroking Nall-not-cat, swearing because the stupid town is both the beautiful dream he just described, and the hell-hole that has trapped him, trapped Nall, and set the boys loose with their firecrackers.  Tarvek yearns for the dream -- and more and more sees the bitter nightmare, too.]
[How is he to deal with both?  He doesn't know.  So he holds the cat, which his Mayfield self has now decided is his cat, his family pet, their dear little Nall-cat.  He will hold Nall and protect him through the evening and the fireworks to come, and at the end he will bring him home and let him sleep safe, curled on the sofa in the home office where once the same Nall-cat lay dead with Dead-Ilsa.]
[Maybe, in the morning, it will make sense to all of them.]
velesdonnersen: (Sadness)
 [Tarvek has found Ilsa, before her death.  He was there for her.  Now, he's placed her body in the passenger seat of his convertible, laid her out as well as he can, and he's preparing to track back along Bilko Boulevard, then make his way to his home, 1126 Taylor Road.  He's been crying, but right now he's in a sort of cold, sad and angry place of mind.]

[As he cruises, slowly, a flash of white and red and wing catches his eye.  He pulls over, this time being very careful to take his time and park properly at the curb: if he isn't careful Ilsa's quickly cooling body may slip from it's current placid position, and then she could go into rigor mortis in an ugly, humiliating shape.  He doesn't want that for her.]

[Once he's parked, he slips from the driver's seat, out onto the street.  He walks around.  Under a big, green Mayfield tree, he finds the remains of one of his comparatively few other friends in Mayfield: Nall, the dragon who looks like a cat. Tarvek squats, and looks at the bloody, shattered mess.]

Damn it, Nall.  You're little and fast, and you can keep out of trouble if you want to.  Fire-and-hail.

[He sighs, and his head droops for a moment.  He sets his jaw, and slips out of his nice, tailored jacket.  Working carefully he eases Nall's body onto the silk lining.  Nall, small thing that he is, has already been through cooling, rigor mortis, and he's beginning to relax again.  Tarvek carefully tucks the dragon-cat's wings around him, and wraps him in the jacket. He puts the little bundle on Ilsa's lap, gets back in the car, and drives home.]

[Megurine, his not-wife, isn' t home, and hasn't been all day.  He's worried for her, but is relieved to find the children calmly playing in the back yard.  It's hard for him to believe that they just don't notice the mayhem... but they don't.  They exist in the perfect, unshaken life of Mayfield as they believe it to be.  He takes the time to wash his hands and make them bologna sandwiches and Kool-Aid, which he carries out to the backyard picnic table.  He tells the kids he'll be in his in-house office, and not to come in.]

[Then, knowing they will leave him in peace, he removes Ilsa and Nall from the car (along with Ilsa's purse), and carries them to the office.  He carefully lays Ilsa out on the Danish-style sofa, there, wrapping her carefully in an afghan, with her hands folded at her breast and her purse tucked beside her, against the back cushions. He puts the small bundle that is Nall on her lap.  Then he goes to the kitchen, finds a bottle of Johnny Walker and a glass, and returns to the office.  He pours himself a shot, and settles into his office chair, which he swivels so that he can see his friends. He raises the shot-glass.]

To unexpected loves, in unpredictable places.

[He sips, cautiously.  Ilsa's comments about self-medicating haven't escaped him entirely... and he's not stupid enough to think things are going to get any better if he becomes an alcoholic here.]
Red and blue lightening.  Mayfield better send you both back.
[He leans over and starts ruffling through the notes he's been keeping.  According to the notes, these two should disappear at midnight -- but he's willing to accept that it may be longer.  He just hopes they do disappear.  He's not ready to start saying permanent goodbyes to his friends: he's lost enough already.  And where's he going to put them, anyway?  His flower beds?]
Come back, friends.  I'll wait for you.
[He then does the proper thing at a wake, and remembers, with great fondness, the pleasure he's had finding friends who talk to him, and listen, and to whom he's nothing but just Tarvek. He still doesn't hate Mayfield, but he hates-hates-hates how people end up functioning here.  He's beginning to get pissed... and not on Johnny Walker.]



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March 2012

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