velesdonnersen | A Second Cylinder Fires

Tarvek made it through the madness of the last few events. He's recognized that his former not!wife has been droned -- a grief in its own right, as "Betty" is not returned, but Megurine Luka is so very clearly gone, wandering merrily through Betty's activities without notice of the shift. He's coped with Halloween, he's grown his friendship circle a little.

But he's still living as barely more than a talented Minion. So it's a matter of stunning excitement when he goes out to his mailbox, and finds another small cardboard carton. He rips it open, fingernails tearing at the sticky tape so common in Mayfield, and....

Yes. Yes! Another spark plug, resting heavily in the palm of his hand. He races in, slips the plug into a drawer of his home-office desk, and stretches his mind, running gears and cogs through his thoughts.

Nothing. Nothing?

He feels a moment of panic. Maybe... maybe it's just a signal of him getting back something small, like his proper pince nez? But, no: he simply got the pince nez, not a spark plug. The only time he's gotten a spark plug, it heralded the return of spark.

He's hesitant, now. Something has apparently been returned to him... but he's unsure what.

Time will tell.

He frowns, and putters to the office for the day, planning on returning to Ilsa's place for dinner, now that poor Pyro has been droned. It's nice to play house with Ilsa, and be both her Alpha and her "husband" -- in imagination, if not in Mayfield law.

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I'm prepared for that - this isn't the first time I've gone through this, remember.

[ She smiles, and leans into him. ]

I want to make sure you understand, you are still my alpha.

[He holds her close, and snuggles, but she should be quite aware that he's trying to pretend away very real insecurity... and by now she should know it's woven layers deep in him, and his fears aren't just imagination or low self-esteem in the normal sense: his experience tells him to be afraid. His courage and his faith in her are all he's got to hold the line against that.]

Good, love. So, tell your alpha, woman: do we have dinner first... or after I investigate this lovely perfume a bit more, er, intimately?

[ She knows, because it is major work to shield him out, now - ans she has to use that energy to make sure she doesn't hurt him, knowing some of the other issues that might have come along with her new "perfume". That bit he does with her earlobe also makes concentration a little difficult. ]

We pack up dinner, and take it downstairs with us so the drones don't find us here.

[ Grabbing his hand, she leads him back to the kitchen. ]

[He's determined not to whine or sulk. He's being staunch, and so there. He follows her out, and cheerfully digs up a picnic basket as a way to start the packing. He wraps pans in towels, and tucks them in.]

So... what *are* we having for dinner, Ilsa?

If we get to it, you mean? Pollo en Salsa de Frijol Negro, old family recipe, from Mama's side of the family.

[ Much more relaxed now, the Spanish rolls out without a hitch, and she packs the flan carefully. ]

It should be all right cold, if you get carried away.

[He leers, lovingly.]

If I carry you away -- always a delight -- I will repay by reheating it on your lab bunsen burners. I am no cook, schatzi, but I do know a bit of lab cookery.

Mmhmm, and my lab isn't decked out like that, but I do have a hotplate there now.

[ Balancing the plate on one hand, she opens the door to the basement, then reaches for the basket. ]

Quick, grab your things from the couch so the drones don't come looking to say hello.

[Grabs his briefcase, and the various bits of dinner she didn't manage on her own, and hurries after her, closing the basement door behind him...]

A Second Cylinder Fires

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