New Year's Eve/New Year's Day

[velesdonnersen]

[As usual, if it weren't for the crazy elements, Tarvek could just curl up and adore Mayfield.  Now, he's invited Ilsa out. He's wearing his best suit, and he's taking a Mayfield Risk: he's taking her to dinner, and to a restaurant afterward.]

[He intends it be the best Mayfield has to offer.  Granted, in Mayfield that means a limited number of options. Decent steak, decent shrimp cocktail, passable but uninspired Lobster, and probably one decent French restaurant... decent, but with a very limited set of choices.  Count boeuf Bourguignon, escargot, French onion soup, something flambe, and not a lot else. But there's soft music, there are candles, and he's dressed to impress. He works at all the niceties; draws out her seat for her, tests the wine, does what little a poor Europan prince can to turn a mediocre meal into a feast through clever suggestions and requests.  Through it all his eyes shine.  He's back with his beloved, and she remembers him.]

It's good to be home, leibchen.

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[velesdonnersen.livejournal.com]

[He's clean, and smells nice, and he's scrubbed his hair as dry as he can manage. He looks at her, eyes widening even if he did pick out the options for her.]

[Soft.] You look lovely. [Mischief] Grrrrrrr.

[He's wearing a red silk robe he found in a package under her tree, with his name on it.]

[ooeeooahah]

[ Luckily for her, robe sizes can be approximate, as can most pajama styles. Sewing that, while he helped with her presents for Egon and John, had been one of her better slights of hand. ]

You make me look good, 'bibi.

[ She's turned out most of the lights in her room. Leaving the candle burning on the dresser, she advances on him. ]

[velesdonnersen.livejournal.com]

[He's got happiness radiating out of every square inch of him, along with the shocked, almost awed uncertainty of someone who had come to expect a certain steady-state misery. He flows against her, wrapping her close in his arms, and then displaying some sparky strength by scooping her up and cradling her.]

Where to, love? Bed? Floor? Shower? Chair? Your pick. We can always try another spot next time....

[ooeeooahah]

[ She wraps herself around him, drinking in his joy and returning hers while cutting off his conversation by kissing him soundly. ]

[ When she decides to move on to his earlobe, she murmurs, ] ...closest spot.

[velesdonnersen.livejournal.com]

[He's an effete Europan prince, and honestly does think beds are usually more comfortable and stable. He carries her over to hers, returning her kisses, nuzzling behind her ear, slipping a strap from her shoulder. Soon enough he's very busy...and fails to notice when the candle goes out...]

[ooeeooahah]

[ Timing is everything in certain circles. Ilsa has always found Tarvek to be a cooperative partner, even when he's not aware of everything involved. So riding the crest at midnight was not a difficult thing to arrange. ]

[ Later, much later, as they are snuggled in together, half-way between sleep and sensuality, the radio crackles to life. The message is long enough to catch Ilsa's attention that she is fully aware by the time the wish is spoken. ]

What was that? Or who?

[velesdonnersen.livejournal.com]

[Tarvek woke quickly, at the first sound of the radio. He's trained his whole life to be hyper-vigilant. Much of the context escaped him, though he has seen enough movies at Quin's to understand "It's a Wonderful Life," the more so because of the past holiday season of reverse-theme. But it's the voice at the end that shatters him.]

It's one of Mayfield's "gods." Lucy, or the man who plays her?

[He's vibrating with frustration and grief.]

Ilsa, is anyone trying to help him? Or her? Or even find out what happened that hurt so badly that this crazy town is the answer? I know we all hate being pounded on, but you're a psychiatrist: doesn't it bother you that no one cares that our "master" is bleeding to death over something?

[He shivers, refusing to cling to her.]

I know. I know. We're abused. But...I feel the same way about Mayfield that man does. A place I can't be hurt anymore. Yes, they mess with you, and me, and all of us -- but even at their worst, there's something sweet underlying the crazy. This place really could be heaven, if we could just find a way to help our puppet master see it.

[ooeeooahah]

There's only so much you can do for an unwilling patient, 'bibi.

[ That applies to more than one "patient" in Mayfield. She understands his position more now than she did this summer, now that he's let slip more of his past. She is able to insulate some of his frustration, and nudge a little bit of hopefulness. Just a little, as much as he hates being manipulated, she doesn't push too hard. ]

Then there's the problem of finding them, of getting the message to them. With so many layers, so many issues... and not many edges to grab. I'm wondering if the "Lucy" facade is intended to be protective coloring, or if there's another story there.

[velesdonnersen.livejournal.com]

[He lets her hope seep into him. He knows the flavor of her nudges, and doesn't feel so much manipulated as comforted... as though she placed a warm hand over an aching muscle. He lets himself curl closer again.]

I know. But--Ilsa, if I weren't worried she'd drone me and leave you alone, I'd simply go up to the door and knock, and tell her how many ways I like Mayfield. And how much I wish I could help her work out how to stop making the people here angry, when she wants them to be happy with her.

[ooeeooahah]

[ She wraps herself around him as he settles in. That he's worried about leaving her alone is a selfish relief, but a relief nonetheless. She begins to spin out some threads of contemplation. ]

There's also the possibility that the personality behind the terrors just doesn't care that others are angry, or hurt, or fearful... and in extreme cases, the personality enjoys the pain of others.

[ There is the thought that they should sleep, and the likelihood that they won't be able to sleep for some time. ]

[velesdonnersen.livejournal.com]

[He sighs, contented. He's not naive, and he can accept that "Lucy" may be a complete, out-of-control Madboy. But for the moment that call of fear and desire for haven haunts him. The thing is, he's used to being haunted. He's not half as used to being happy, and sated, and curled with his love, and it's easy to just give himself to that.]

Hmm. Maybe...

[He starts to say something else, then with sudden grace, simply falls asleep.]

ZZZZZZZZZZZ.....