velesdonnersen | Back on the Doghouse Again...

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Back on the Doghouse Again...

[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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[He has to run inside to get the keys from the drawer where The Betty kept them. It makes him sad, but glad: there's some sign of her existence, after all. He hurries back to the garage, with its open door. He's learned enough here already to very graciously open the driver's side and hand her in, before seating himself in the passenger side. He notes she's chosen the fortress-like sedan.]

I'm ready. What first?

[ She adjusts the rear-view mirror while automatically reaching over her left shoulder, before commenting. ]

Pfft, right - Nader hasn't gotten to that yet. Okay.

First, was the once over I gave the car.

Things you want to look for - make sure all the tires are still inflated and such, or the kids haven't left something behind the car.

Activate the driving brake, key in the ignition, and start the engine.

[ She takes a moment to listen to the engine, with a small smile. ]

As much as these guzzle gas, there's still something about the sound. Anyway!

[ Twisting around in the seat, she looks behind, then puts the car in reverse. ]

Actually look in the direction you're driving, as much as you can. The mirrors are for quick reference.

[ She stops at the end of the driveway. ]

The only reason to not stop at the end of the driveway is if someone is shooting at you, or a similar emergency. Check both directions, because the traffic in the street has right of way.

[ Yes, she's babbling, but in a lecture tone. ]

[He's the cautious, systematic son of a meticulous spark. He's watching and nodding to himself, translating it to his own precautionary rituals.]

"Measure twice, cut once?" "Confirm all data?" "Always make sure the Bunsen burner is off before lighting a spark nearby?"

[He's of the opinion he'll probably be a good driver -- so long as he's not driving in his Madness Place. If he ever gets his Madness Place back, though, all bets are off.]

The key starts the car, the wheel steers it, the mirrors help you see what's around you without always having to turn your head away from what you're driving toward, and you treat the entire environment as potentially hostile.

Hmmmph. That last sounds like home.

That's a good bit of it.

[ She steers carefully out of the neighborhood. ]

A quick trip downtown, then the gas station.

[ She doesn't take her eyes from the road, but smiles. ]

Then we see what this sucker can do on the highway.

[He's amused. She sounds like a Spark when she talks about this car... a nice, edgy lust. He hopes driving will make him feel the same way.]

"Gas." I assume you don't mean of the sort that fuels my Bunsen burners. Refined fluid petroleum, then? Something like kerosene?

Petroleum, yes - I don't know the chemical composition of it. All I know is it's hideously expensive in my time, and not so much here.

[ She giggles, ] Don't worry, you'll get a turn.

[He's fascinated by how the car changes her. She's never been meek, or mild, but the spark-ish element of her personality has never been so clear. She's a Gentlewoman Adventurer behind the wheel: excited, energized, high-spirited.]

I probably could tell you about the chemistry, if I weren't spark-impaired. But at least I can think about it enough to have some idea what makes it work. It's better than just having to think, "the key is magic."

Though here I have seen that "magic" works, too.

[Movement zooms past him, and he gives a sudden, reflexive "GNEEP!" and flinch, before he realizes it's all under control.]

Sorry-sorry. Going to take me awhile to get used to things moving past like that.

Do you know how far we can drive before we meet things, or get looped back into Mayfield? I'd as soon not get any bears in here. [Wicked grin] They'd scratch the pain and rip up the nice leather upholstery.

Why d'ye think I chose the sedan? Bears would rip right through the ragtop.

[ Not so far to loop through downtown, past the law office, and pulling into the gas station. She starts to get out, and is startled by the drone service attendants swarming the car. ]

Oof. Forgot about that, too.

[ Her smile turns ironic when the attendant goes to the passenger side of the car with the receipt. ]

And that changed as well.

[He's got a wallet, now, and it's got all sorts of things in it. But he's still not entirely familiar with Mayfield currency. He pulls out a paper bill with a 20 on it, and is told it's too big to change. It takes awhile to work down to a five, and he still gets money back.]

It's my car, it's only right I pay.

Isn't it?

Oh, right. They wouldn't know it was my car... and should assume normally that the owner is the driver.

So...

Why didn't they?

[He understand the prejudices of his world, including its patriarchal aspects, but he's also a spark, and would himself assume that whoever was driving a Fine Machine like the Cadillac must be the Spark, and therefor the owner.]

[ Her smile is fixed, until they pull away. Her voice is even, but not as happy as before. ]

It is generally assumed in this town that women are not capable of things that require intelligence, such as making sure the car is properly maintained, or even making change properly.

Stupid, silly little things we are.

[He does hear her issue. He gets it. But... he comes at it with a slightly different priority stack.]

It's useful when they underestimate you, you know. Much easier to get away with things if they think you're stupid, weak, and inattentive.

[ She huffs, and turns the car towards the highway. ]

I can survive an city emergency room shift, I can re-wire a sub-woofer and I am a good enough shot to make the skeet team in my undergraduate days.

I am capable of being an independent adult.

It's hard to let go of that.

I'm still not used to thinking of this as a covert mission.

Ah.

Pride. I do understand. It's wonderful to be able to expect to be treated as a gentleman and a capable adult. But... it's a luxury. Sometimes if you want to survive it's actually best to accept the role of buffoon, idiot, simpleton. You learn more, fight less, and people underestimate you when they make their plans.

[Soft]

I lived for most of my life playing that role. Weak, pretentious, naive, misinformed. Unable to fight. I'd thought...

I'd thought I had found people who'd recognize the man of reason and ability under the role.

Unfortunately apparently my disguises have been too effective.

[Fierce reversion to chipper.]

Now, why don't we go where you can run around a bit. I can tell you won't let me behind the wheel here until you've gotten to play, some, first.

[ She chuckles. ]

I did want to test out something I heard about the highway looping back on itself.

Maybe test the high end handling as well.

Very good, m'Lady Ilsa.

Show me what this clanking monster can do!

This is also your chance to get used to the ground speed, you know.

[ At the end of the highway, she smoothly accelerates, leveling out at about 55 mph, scanning for a posted speed limit. ]

So, sometime in the next dozen miles or so, there's supposed to be an edit blip in the loop.

Edit blip?

[Giggle-snort.]

Ok. Edit blip. [smiles... while hanging onto dash and door frame with white fingers.]

It's not the speed, exactly. It was all the movement around us. Here -- it's almost like flying, or skating. Fast, but not terrifying.

I don't suggest you try higher speeds until you're comfortable with your control.

[ She hasn't seen a speed limit sign yet, but she has seen the white knuckles in passing.

[ When they get back to town, she pulls over. ]

So, the highway seems deserted enough. Care to give it a try?

[If only the man knew the right 50s car-songs. He'd be singing about "Oh, Maybelline," and "Hot Rod Lincoln," and "Baby Won't You Ride My Car." He's ready for a machine, oh, yeah, baby...]

Yes!

[Slips out of his seat like a hot-wired weasel, scoots around to open her door, and as she slips out -- the Hand Is There, waiting for the keys like a bell-hop waiting for a tip. As soon as he can he eeeeaaaases his way into the driver's seat. As she gets into her seat...]

I checked the tires and the exterior as I walked around, and looked for rocks, toys, mimmoths, maxi-mimmoths, velociraptors, animated hay-stacks, clanks, mechanical squid, and anything else in the way.

[Carefully and contemplatively checks all mirrors, tests his leg-room (isn't it good they're both tall?), finds the pedals...]

[Cheerful snark....]

Yes. I see. Definitely.

So... tell me, madame-teacher, what does what? It's going to take more than turning the key, and turning the wheel, isn't it?

Right - the pedal on the right is the accelerator. The pedal on the left is the driving brake.

Way over on the far left there are some more controls you should know about from reading the owner's manual.

[ She gives him a cheeky smile.

Take it easy with both on this first run-through.

[ She settles in, exuding calm relaxation. ]

[Ooooh, she's put him on his mettle. A challenge, eh? Fortunately he has been reading his manual, and has further looked long and hard at all the widgets and levers and such. He sets his feet carefully, sets one foot on the brake for extra security, turns the ignition, and, as the engine revs, eases lightly on the gas.]

[He smiles at the rumbling response, and he plays for a second, seeing how the gas revs the engine, and slacks off as he releases pressure. He nods to himself. He releases the safety brake, checks in all directions, puts the car into drive, and, with a sly look from under his lashes, eases out onto the highway. He plays gingerly with the speed, wobbles the steering wheel to test response, pulls over, carefully pulls out again, this time turning to go the other way... and pulls to the side only as they're returning to Mayfield again.]

[Looks sidewise, and smiles.]

I do confess: that's the simple part. I need to practice more before I attempt traffic. But I didn't kill us yet.

Another reason to choose the sedan was the automatic transmission. The convertible is going to need a weekend or so to get used to it.

[ She hasn't made a move to exit the car.

So, late afternoon, light traffic, where do you want to drive?

Edited 2011-05-14 05:28 (UTC)

[Gneep. Ok. He's game. But he has no place he needs to go right now... and he's too Europan mannerly to just suggest he go to her house. He takes the manipulative route, and lets her choose...]

Nowhere in particular. I'll let you navigate, while I worry about the traffic.

[ She chuckles, ] Fair enough. Think you can make it to your office building from here?

[Fortunately Mayfield is not exactly a complex layout. He thinks he might even be able to manage it without her help... not that he's going to say so. He reviews all the little rules in the booklet he found in the library... one of the few useful bits of printed material he's found there. Takes a deep breath.]

Yes. I think I can manage.

[Starts the car, eases into his lane, and proceeds cautiously. He has a bit of trouble timing his stops -- he gets honked at once or twice, to his dismay. But he does well, and they end up at work.]

Would you like to come in? I've told them I have someone working part-time for me, as a light-labor secretary. I can introduce you, and then if you need to come in some time they'll know who you are.

It's a drone office. They're not much company, but they do insist on minding the rules.

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