Savannah has been stopping by the cottage every day, now, wanting to tell her dad how the sentient veggies from the garden went over in the Sanctuary. It was quite funny to her that people in the Nexus, who had such weird things as ghosts, cat brownies, a ceilingfish, and occasional pirate floods, could be so shocked by a couple of bad-mouthed carrots.
But every day for nearly a week now, her father has not been home. Today, her knock on the door goes completely unanswered, so she invites herself in and steals away to Gabe's room, just to make sure he's not sick or anything.
The cottage is likely not completely empty, as Gabriel tends to have at least one other person living there at any given time, up to three other than himself, but his own rooms are empty. His things are as they were a week prior, his bed made. A good week's worth of dust has settled, an empty teacup on his writing desk.
She calls his name a few times, no answer. And she notices the staleness of his rooms. It is a bit dusty, though she doesn't really notice that. What she does notice is an absence of anything recently used. No dirty laundry in the hamper, no drops of water in the shower. Everything put away, no papers out.
"Huh. Could have at least left a note, Dad." She goes to pick up the teacup and take it to the kitchen.
The thing is, he usually does leave a note, or at least tell her that he's going to be going somewhere himself, even if he knows he won't see her for a few days. Sometimes, it's to the point of near-annoyance.
He usually doesn't leave dirty dishes out, either.
It does make Savannah wonder. So she starts looking for clues, after the dishes are placed in the kitchen downstairs. Anything under the bed, in this drawer, in the closet?
The next drawer down, then, where she vaguely remembers is where he keeps his stationary. Just like her dad, to be writing a note down and then forgetting to tear it off the pad, putting it back without a second thought.
There isn't a note on the pad. Nor is there one on the loose stationery underneath. There is a light blue envelope though, among the pencils and pens and paper-clips.
Now, Savannah should know better than to read other people's mail. But a bit more than a week ago, when she was visiting and looking for a stapler, she had been rummaging through this very drawer for it, and she doesn't remember the envelope.
"Oh God, oh shit, oh Jesus H. Christ." Savannah almost drops the letter in the middle of reading it, realizing what it was. A will. Does that mean her father is dead?
"If you're snooping through my things, you can stop right now and find something more interesting to do than rifle through your old dad's desk."
Well, this wasn't really snooping, but - if he had meant for her to find it right off, he would have left it on top of the desk, or given it to her outwardly. But then, who plans to go die? Everything was going so well, what did he get into this time?
This was recent, as it included details about Kurt with a tone that would have been appropriate only in the last few months. She wished, she wished she knew when this had been written -
But with a start, she realized who could tell her.
Rushing out of the room without even closing the door, she went to find Alistair.
Alistair was not all that difficult to find, really. These days, he stayed out of the Nexus, reverting to his homebody habits from before he'd gotten kidnapped at the start of this mess. Today, was patiently trimming his bonsai trees, and would be hanging teeny random objects from them once finished, as was his singularly eccentric wont.
Savannah would, of course, be greeted with a meow from the cat, first.
"Ali...Ali I found something that you shou - nice little gears hanging off of this one, well done - can you please read the history of this for me?" She places the letter in front of him, along with the envelope by means of explanation and pets the cat almost violently in an attempt to calm her nerves.
"Savvy ... okay, first, Savvy, breathe. I'm told it helps. Where'd you find this?" He blinks a bit confusedly at the letter.
Dusty endures this treatment for a moment or two before slipping away with an affronted mrowr to assume her usual post on the top of an easy chair, like the world's furriest antimaccasar.
But every day for nearly a week now, her father has not been home. Today, her knock on the door goes completely unanswered, so she invites herself in and steals away to Gabe's room, just to make sure he's not sick or anything.
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"Huh. Could have at least left a note, Dad." She goes to pick up the teacup and take it to the kitchen.
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He usually doesn't leave dirty dishes out, either.
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In this drawer, camera parts, empty 35mm roll tubes, old unused rolls of film, some yellowing photographs.
In the closet, clothing. Boots. Shoes. Empty luggage. An umbrella.
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There isn't a note on the pad. Nor is there one on the loose stationery underneath. There is a light blue envelope though, among the pencils and pens and paper-clips.
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So she takes it out and peers inside.
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Should she read it or not? It's up to her.
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She opens the paper up and starts to read.
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"If you're snooping through my things, you can stop right now and find something more interesting to do than rifle through your old dad's desk."
Well, this wasn't really snooping, but - if he had meant for her to find it right off, he would have left it on top of the desk, or given it to her outwardly. But then, who plans to go die? Everything was going so well, what did he get into this time?
This was recent, as it included details about Kurt with a tone that would have been appropriate only in the last few months. She wished, she wished she knew when this had been written -
But with a start, she realized who could tell her.
Rushing out of the room without even closing the door, she went to find Alistair.
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Savannah would, of course, be greeted with a meow from the cat, first.
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"Savvy ... okay, first, Savvy, breathe. I'm told it helps. Where'd you find this?" He blinks a bit confusedly at the letter.
Dusty endures this treatment for a moment or two before slipping away with an affronted mrowr to assume her usual post on the top of an easy chair, like the world's furriest antimaccasar.
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