The Aftermath
[Tarvek has found Ilsa, before her death. He was there for her. Now, he's placed her body in the passenger seat of his convertible, laid her out as well as he can, and he's preparing to track back along Bilko Boulevard, then make his way to his home, 1126 Taylor Road. He's been crying, but right now he's in a sort of cold, sad and angry place of mind.]
[As he cruises, slowly, a flash of white and red and wing catches his eye. He pulls over, this time being very careful to take his time and park properly at the curb: if he isn't careful Ilsa's quickly cooling body may slip from it's current placid position, and then she could go into rigor mortis in an ugly, humiliating shape. He doesn't want that for her.]
[Once he's parked, he slips from the driver's seat, out onto the street. He walks around. Under a big, green Mayfield tree, he finds the remains of one of his comparatively few other friends in Mayfield: Nall, the dragon who looks like a cat. Tarvek squats, and looks at the bloody, shattered mess.]
Damn it, Nall. You're little and fast, and you can keep out of trouble if you want to. Fire-and-hail.
[He sighs, and his head droops for a moment. He sets his jaw, and slips out of his nice, tailored jacket. Working carefully he eases Nall's body onto the silk lining. Nall, small thing that he is, has already been through cooling, rigor mortis, and he's beginning to relax again. Tarvek carefully tucks the dragon-cat's wings around him, and wraps him in the jacket. He puts the little bundle on Ilsa's lap, gets back in the car, and drives home.]
[Megurine, his not-wife, isn' t home, and hasn't been all day. He's worried for her, but is relieved to find the children calmly playing in the back yard. It's hard for him to believe that they just don't notice the mayhem... but they don't. They exist in the perfect, unshaken life of Mayfield as they believe it to be. He takes the time to wash his hands and make them bologna sandwiches and Kool-Aid, which he carries out to the backyard picnic table. He tells the kids he'll be in his in-house office, and not to come in.]
[Then, knowing they will leave him in peace, he removes Ilsa and Nall from the car (along with Ilsa's purse), and carries them to the office. He carefully lays Ilsa out on the Danish-style sofa, there, wrapping her carefully in an afghan, with her hands folded at her breast and her purse tucked beside her, against the back cushions. He puts the small bundle that is Nall on her lap. Then he goes to the kitchen, finds a bottle of Johnny Walker and a glass, and returns to the office. He pours himself a shot, and settles into his office chair, which he swivels so that he can see his friends. He raises the shot-glass.]
To unexpected loves, in unpredictable places.
[He sips, cautiously. Ilsa's comments about self-medicating haven't escaped him entirely... and he's not stupid enough to think things are going to get any better if he becomes an alcoholic here.]
Red and blue lightening. Mayfield better send you both back.
[He leans over and starts ruffling through the notes he's been keeping. According to the notes, these two should disappear at midnight -- but he's willing to accept that it may be longer. He just hopes they do disappear. He's not ready to start saying permanent goodbyes to his friends: he's lost enough already. And where's he going to put them, anyway? His flower beds?]
Come back, friends. I'll wait for you.
[He then does the proper thing at a wake, and remembers, with great fondness, the pleasure he's had finding friends who talk to him, and listen, and to whom he's nothing but just Tarvek. He still doesn't hate Mayfield, but he hates-hates-hates how people end up functioning here. He's beginning to get pissed... and not on Johnny Walker.]
[As he cruises, slowly, a flash of white and red and wing catches his eye. He pulls over, this time being very careful to take his time and park properly at the curb: if he isn't careful Ilsa's quickly cooling body may slip from it's current placid position, and then she could go into rigor mortis in an ugly, humiliating shape. He doesn't want that for her.]
[Once he's parked, he slips from the driver's seat, out onto the street. He walks around. Under a big, green Mayfield tree, he finds the remains of one of his comparatively few other friends in Mayfield: Nall, the dragon who looks like a cat. Tarvek squats, and looks at the bloody, shattered mess.]
Damn it, Nall. You're little and fast, and you can keep out of trouble if you want to. Fire-and-hail.
[He sighs, and his head droops for a moment. He sets his jaw, and slips out of his nice, tailored jacket. Working carefully he eases Nall's body onto the silk lining. Nall, small thing that he is, has already been through cooling, rigor mortis, and he's beginning to relax again. Tarvek carefully tucks the dragon-cat's wings around him, and wraps him in the jacket. He puts the little bundle on Ilsa's lap, gets back in the car, and drives home.]
[Megurine, his not-wife, isn' t home, and hasn't been all day. He's worried for her, but is relieved to find the children calmly playing in the back yard. It's hard for him to believe that they just don't notice the mayhem... but they don't. They exist in the perfect, unshaken life of Mayfield as they believe it to be. He takes the time to wash his hands and make them bologna sandwiches and Kool-Aid, which he carries out to the backyard picnic table. He tells the kids he'll be in his in-house office, and not to come in.]
[Then, knowing they will leave him in peace, he removes Ilsa and Nall from the car (along with Ilsa's purse), and carries them to the office. He carefully lays Ilsa out on the Danish-style sofa, there, wrapping her carefully in an afghan, with her hands folded at her breast and her purse tucked beside her, against the back cushions. He puts the small bundle that is Nall on her lap. Then he goes to the kitchen, finds a bottle of Johnny Walker and a glass, and returns to the office. He pours himself a shot, and settles into his office chair, which he swivels so that he can see his friends. He raises the shot-glass.]
To unexpected loves, in unpredictable places.
[He sips, cautiously. Ilsa's comments about self-medicating haven't escaped him entirely... and he's not stupid enough to think things are going to get any better if he becomes an alcoholic here.]
Red and blue lightening. Mayfield better send you both back.
[He leans over and starts ruffling through the notes he's been keeping. According to the notes, these two should disappear at midnight -- but he's willing to accept that it may be longer. He just hopes they do disappear. He's not ready to start saying permanent goodbyes to his friends: he's lost enough already. And where's he going to put them, anyway? His flower beds?]
Come back, friends. I'll wait for you.
[He then does the proper thing at a wake, and remembers, with great fondness, the pleasure he's had finding friends who talk to him, and listen, and to whom he's nothing but just Tarvek. He still doesn't hate Mayfield, but he hates-hates-hates how people end up functioning here. He's beginning to get pissed... and not on Johnny Walker.]