[Huh. Waking up alone. Not something that happens much, these days. Usually it's either empty Drone!Luka, or it's very involved Ilsa. Today the bed is just... empty. He reaches out in the lovely, lush dark of the basement room, and finds only chill sheets.]
Ilsa?
[Having found nothing, he gropes by the bedside table, and flicks on a light. He's the only one in the room... He slips out of bed, frowning slightly. Maybe she's decided to make a shared breakfast for them?]
Ilsa?
[He slips into proper clothing, determined to give her nothing to be embarrassed about. This may be her home, but it still runs by Mayfield rules, and the Not!Pyro droned husband is proprietary as hell. He wanders through the basement apartment, finger-combing his hair and drawing it back into its pony-tail as he starts up the stairs.]
[He's getting better at picking up backwash from her. Something is not right... which, given last night, worries him. He knows she's scared by her newly regained pheromones. Is she worried about work?]
[He slopes in from the basement, sets his briefcase by the kitchen door, settles his jacket and tie, pours himself a cup of coffee, then meets her eye, trying to radiate alpha-like firmness and love.]
What's wrong, liebchen? If it's work, I can set us up with a project that will keep me by you today: beat off any pushy folks who like your new perfume too much.
[He wasn't actually there for the last time he felt like this: Mayfield had already taken him when Agatha kissed Gil goodbye. So he has no preparation for what it feels like to be dialed out of the narrative quite so blatantly.]
[Freezes, sucking air. Ilsa's going to know he's hurting... she's also going to feel him fiercely pack it up, wrap it silently in tissue paper, and put it aside. He's her alpha. And if he's not still her alpha, he's still Prince Tarvek Sturmvoraus, and he... copes.]
Ah.
He's.... he'll be an improvement on Pyro. I know: Pyro had many good qualities. But Egon will be a good Mayfield husband for you.
[Sits at kitchen table, hands folded properly before him.]
He's a good man.
Ilsa...
I'm....
No matter what, I'm here for you. Do you understand? You're the best, and I am here for you regardless of how things work out.
[Yeah, he heard that last bit. He shoots Tarvek a vague glance as he enters the kitchen and goes right for the coffee. Egon is silent and goes about his business, looking like he's not eager to disturb anyone.]
[Angst-angst. However, he's Ilsa's Alpha and a Prince. And Egon is stuck in a difficult situation. Tarvek raises his head high, and smiles, with trained graciousness.]
Good morning, Herr Doctor Egon. I would welcome you to the house, but... it is yours, in all truth. You are a lucky man, my friend. No matter what, you are lucky. Ilsa is a good woman, and a good friend.
Would...
[Trying not to fracture.]
Would you like me to leave you to talk with her? I can... I can go to tbe basement. Or I can return to my own home.
[He tries to send a vibe to Ilsa that if she wants him to stay, he will -- but...but...but he's Olde Worlde. Egon deserves the rights that go with being the man of the household, and he deserves the dignity of dealing with Ilsa in private before he has to try dealing with Tarvek.]
[ Ilsa forestalls flight by placing a plate of sweet cinnamon rolls in front of each of the men. ]
If that is what makes it easier for you to process, all right.
[ No projections today, not when she's trying to stay calm herself. She wants to scream at the both of them, but that won't help anything, at this stage. ]
[Tarvek gets up, edgily, and makes himself a large mug of his super-sweet, super-rich coffee -- and sucks down an entire mug in one go, only to mix himself another. Then he drifts back and sits with perfect posture in his seat. He serves himself a cinnamon roll, and pays exquisite attention to the ritual of setting up a bread plate. Butter on plate, break a piece at a time, butter it as needed...all Very Couth.]
[His hands are not shaking. This is because he's very, very good at handling his own nerves.]
It's fantastic, as always, Ilsa, lo...
It's great.
Egon, you're probably going to want to check and make sure Mayfield moved everything of yours here. If not I'll be glad to help you clean out the garage in your former house. You were putting together an incredible lab.
Ray and Peter can probably help, too. Even if Mayfield brought everything, I'm willing to bet it didn't set it up the way a proper madboy would want.
[His body language changes slightly when he spots the cinnamon rolls. His desire to leave the room is overthrown by his sweet tooth and he grabs one off the plate.
Then, just as soon as it left his severe discomfort is back and he eyes the front door just outside the kitchen. Tarvek's overcompensation is just making things worse.]
I didn't see anything out of place.
[He keeps things short and to the point, not bothering to sit down. Sitting down will indicate that he's sticking around for a while.]
Ilsa?
[Having found nothing, he gropes by the bedside table, and flicks on a light. He's the only one in the room... He slips out of bed, frowning slightly. Maybe she's decided to make a shared breakfast for them?]
Ilsa?
[He slips into proper clothing, determined to give her nothing to be embarrassed about. This may be her home, but it still runs by Mayfield rules, and the Not!Pyro droned husband is proprietary as hell. He wanders through the basement apartment, finger-combing his hair and drawing it back into its pony-tail as he starts up the stairs.]
Ilsa? You up here?
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[ She sounds... muted. ]
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[He slopes in from the basement, sets his briefcase by the kitchen door, settles his jacket and tie, pours himself a cup of coffee, then meets her eye, trying to radiate alpha-like firmness and love.]
What's wrong, liebchen? If it's work, I can set us up with a project that will keep me by you today: beat off any pushy folks who like your new perfume too much.
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[ She straightens from putting the breakfast casserole in the oven, wearing the Mayfield-standard-issue nightgown and robe. ]
They issued a new husband, and decided I needed to be upstairs to greet him. He had the usual bad reaction to the way I sleep.
[ She turns to the basement door. ]
I'm getting dressed before the drones wake up.
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[Wanders after her.]
So what did you get this time, love? Fire bug? Assassin? Some poor fool who normally wears tights and a cape, or battle armor?
[He's still concerned. She's... she's not happy. She's worried; scared, even. And he's her alpha: he's supposed to be here for her.]
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[ Dressing for a chilly day at home, Ilsa is not pausing for much, and is soon headed back upstairs. ]
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[Freezes, sucking air. Ilsa's going to know he's hurting... she's also going to feel him fiercely pack it up, wrap it silently in tissue paper, and put it aside. He's her alpha. And if he's not still her alpha, he's still Prince Tarvek Sturmvoraus, and he... copes.]
Ah.
He's.... he'll be an improvement on Pyro. I know: Pyro had many good qualities. But Egon will be a good Mayfield husband for you.
[Sits at kitchen table, hands folded properly before him.]
He's a good man.
Ilsa...
I'm....
No matter what, I'm here for you. Do you understand? You're the best, and I am here for you regardless of how things work out.
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[ She prepares another cup of coffee for him, and sits beside him at the table. ]
You're first. I still want you here with me.
[ She kisses him on the forehead. ]
Though from his reaction this morning, I don't think you have anything to worry about.
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[How DARE Egon fail to appreciate the wonderful chance he's been given! For shame! Tarvek, Ilsa's Very Own Alpha, is offended for her!]
Harmmmph. [Gives her a fast, fierce hug.] Idiot.
I would think he'd be thanking the powers of Mayfield!
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[ Ilsa retreats to the kitchen's work triangle, the second most comfortable spot in the house for her. ]
Cinnamon rolls'll be done soon.
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Good morning, Herr Doctor Egon. I would welcome you to the house, but... it is yours, in all truth. You are a lucky man, my friend. No matter what, you are lucky. Ilsa is a good woman, and a good friend.
Would...
[Trying not to fracture.]
Would you like me to leave you to talk with her? I can... I can go to tbe basement. Or I can return to my own home.
[He tries to send a vibe to Ilsa that if she wants him to stay, he will -- but...but...but he's Olde Worlde. Egon deserves the rights that go with being the man of the household, and he deserves the dignity of dealing with Ilsa in private before he has to try dealing with Tarvek.]
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That's not necessary.
[He stirs his coffee and looks like he's about to flee the kitchen.]
I'll probably head over to Ray's place for most of the day.
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If that is what makes it easier for you to process, all right.
[ No projections today, not when she's trying to stay calm herself. She wants to scream at the both of them, but that won't help anything, at this stage. ]
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[His hands are not shaking. This is because he's very, very good at handling his own nerves.]
It's fantastic, as always, Ilsa, lo...
It's great.
Egon, you're probably going to want to check and make sure Mayfield moved everything of yours here. If not I'll be glad to help you clean out the garage in your former house. You were putting together an incredible lab.
Ray and Peter can probably help, too. Even if Mayfield brought everything, I'm willing to bet it didn't set it up the way a proper madboy would want.
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Then, just as soon as it left his severe discomfort is back and he eyes the front door just outside the kitchen. Tarvek's overcompensation is just making things worse.]
I didn't see anything out of place.
[He keeps things short and to the point, not bothering to sit down. Sitting down will indicate that he's sticking around for a while.]
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