[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.]
[If this were Agatha and Gil, he'd haul Gil aside, threaten to murder him slowly with encores if he hurt Agatha in any way... and then he'd step aside and let Gil and Agatha work out whatever they had to work out.]
[Ilsa is far more adult and experienced than Agatha, and Egon is simply no Gil. The only way Tarvek can see for this to move forward is to let Ilsa deal with Egon, and *then* make the death-with-encore threats, just because no one puts his beloveds at risk without being given a clear warn-off.]
[In the meantime, though, he's got to stay. Ilsa will be hurt if he doesn't somehow make it through this breakfast. Somehow...]
So you've had a chance to check your garage?
What are you and Peter and Ray working on right now? Any new projects?
[Ah, madboy shop talk. Maybe that will work. That and another cinnamon roll. Tarvek calmly serves Egon a second, and collects his cup, topping it off and adding in plenty of sugar and cream.]
[Normally Egon isn't very good at detecting undertones but this morning he's ultra perceptive and it's driving him crazy. He can't stand when people beat around the bush and something Ilsa says finally hits a nerve. The sound of his coffee cup hitting the counter top sends an echo through the kitchen.]
If either of you have something you want to tell me, just say it. [He pinches the bridge of his nose suddenly as if he's fighting off a migraine.] No. Wait. I'll go first.
I don't want to be here. I didn't ask to get thrown into this situation, I don't want... renovations, and I certainly don't want to get in between you two so, please, stop making it sound like I'm out to ruin things for everyone.
All I want is to eat my breakfast in peace and then-... be... somewhere else. [He rarely, if ever, struggles with his words. There's an extremely unusual air about him which would be unnerving for anyone who knows him well.]
[Ah, Egon has gone in a direction Tarvek never even thought of.]
[He is very definitely in "d'oh" mode, now.]
Well... but... of course you didn't choose this! Who does?
Gutt Gott, Egon, I just want to give you and Ilsa the best chance I can to work out whatever works for you in Mayfield... and to figure out what that is!
[Sulks, slightly. He's trying to be noble, dammit!]
Oh, for heaven's sake. Drink your coffee...and talk to Ilsa, later. You really need to know more about her and her life if you're going to be her Mayfield husband...and, just shut up. I *know* you didn't want this to happen. But it has, and if you're going to do it well you're going to have to take the time to learn.
[Scowls and goes all Sturmvoraus grumpy and autocratic. He's really got quite a lot of Klaus in him, for a boy who only got to see The Great Baron up close for a few years. Granted... formative years...]
[Their responses only frustrate and confuse Egon further. He just can't understand why they're trying to force him to fit into this husband role. Isn't Mayfield doing that enough already?
When the children run through the kitchen it's just the cherry on top. They're both drones and they both beam up at him as if they're expecting some sort of greeting from their father. Egon backs stiffly against the counter until Ilsa shoos them to the living room.
Both of his "children" in his first home were non-drones and respected his space. This just made the situation all the more distressing.
When the children are finally gone, Egon drinks the last of his coffee, sets the cup in the sink and wordlessly heads for the front door with the rest of the cinnamon bun in his mouth. This is too much for him to handle right now and this is how he deals with it.]
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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[Ilsa is far more adult and experienced than Agatha, and Egon is simply no Gil. The only way Tarvek can see for this to move forward is to let Ilsa deal with Egon, and *then* make the death-with-encore threats, just because no one puts his beloveds at risk without being given a clear warn-off.]
[In the meantime, though, he's got to stay. Ilsa will be hurt if he doesn't somehow make it through this breakfast. Somehow...]
So you've had a chance to check your garage?
What are you and Peter and Ray working on right now? Any new projects?
[Ah, madboy shop talk. Maybe that will work. That and another cinnamon roll. Tarvek calmly serves Egon a second, and collects his cup, topping it off and adding in plenty of sugar and cream.]
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She hasn't been able to shield out Tarvek for months, and this morning, Egon's distress is nearly as difficult to keep out.
When she finally speaks, it's a quiet murmur. ]
The office off of the living room has generally been the husband's, as well as the garage. I can help with any renovations you want to do.
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If either of you have something you want to tell me, just say it. [He pinches the bridge of his nose suddenly as if he's fighting off a migraine.] No. Wait. I'll go first.
I don't want to be here. I didn't ask to get thrown into this situation, I don't want... renovations, and I certainly don't want to get in between you two so, please, stop making it sound like I'm out to ruin things for everyone.
All I want is to eat my breakfast in peace and then-... be... somewhere else. [He rarely, if ever, struggles with his words. There's an extremely unusual air about him which would be unnerving for anyone who knows him well.]
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[He is very definitely in "d'oh" mode, now.]
Well... but... of course you didn't choose this! Who does?
Gutt Gott, Egon, I just want to give you and Ilsa the best chance I can to work out whatever works for you in Mayfield... and to figure out what that is!
[Sulks, slightly. He's trying to be noble, dammit!]
Oh, for heaven's sake. Drink your coffee...and talk to Ilsa, later. You really need to know more about her and her life if you're going to be her Mayfield husband...and, just shut up. I *know* you didn't want this to happen. But it has, and if you're going to do it well you're going to have to take the time to learn.
[Scowls and goes all Sturmvoraus grumpy and autocratic. He's really got quite a lot of Klaus in him, for a boy who only got to see The Great Baron up close for a few years. Granted... formative years...]
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YES, you made it ABUNDANTLY clear your feelings on the matter. ALL MORNING I've had no DOUBT...
[ Her tirade is interrupted by the arrival of the drone children. Before they have more than a moment of surprise at her anger, she addresses them. ]
Take your cinnamon rolls and juice into the living room. You can eat in there because that's your chore today. Both of you, Jeff.
[ She goes back to staring into her coffee until they leave. ]
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When the children run through the kitchen it's just the cherry on top. They're both drones and they both beam up at him as if they're expecting some sort of greeting from their father. Egon backs stiffly against the counter until Ilsa shoos them to the living room.
Both of his "children" in his first home were non-drones and respected his space. This just made the situation all the more distressing.
When the children are finally gone, Egon drinks the last of his coffee, sets the cup in the sink and wordlessly heads for the front door with the rest of the cinnamon bun in his mouth. This is too much for him to handle right now and this is how he deals with it.]
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