[voice - message]justaddmarblesJuly 14 2011, 23:49:35 UTC
[ ...it's Glitch, he sounds earnest and fretful all at once. and he's clearly never left a voicemail-y message thing in his life ]
H-hello, Mister, um, Don? I-it's Glitch, you loaned me a typewriter a couple months ago? I can talk again, by the way. Anyway, ah, sorry I didn't get back to you sooner but I was busy and then I I thought you'd gone but you turned back up again, which is good, and...I did a few things. With the typewriter. B-but it works fine and if you wanna pick it up it's at the shop in Spe- in Osten, either me or DG or Kaylee'll be around. Um. Bye?
[ there is some confused muttering about how to end these things, and then a click. ]
A week drags by. Drags him along with it. Don drinks more than he sleeps, moves to a hotel when the office ceases to tether him to anything, when he starts to take notice of the dust on the desks and the silence of the phones. Rinsing his razor one day he glimpses a stretch of open highway in the mirror; he looks again and there's only his face. Ruts hewn by time at the corners of his eyes.
He forgets the message until he finds himself retracing a path he knows instinctively. The shop looks stunted, shabby. The sounds emerging from it-clanks, whistles, the chuff of steam-are no longer mysteries or invitations. Just noise. He pushes open the door, steps inside. “Hello?”
The sounds of machinery wound down, and for a moment there was something that sounded suspiciously like Gershwin before the victrola was also turned off. Glitch poked his head out from back-of-shop and gives Don a sunny, vacant smile.
"Hello! How can I--" His expression blanks a moment, then the smile comes back with genuine enthusiasm. "Mr Draper! Hello, come on in, I-I've got the thing for you."
After he locates the office the tablet sits untouched in his desk drawer. He smokes all afternoon then through the night and into morning, walking from room to room, unable to tell if the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach is his or the remnant of a ten-year-old kid.
Finally, once he's done with Walter, he checks the tablet. He could ignore the message but knowing Mattie she'd only track him down, pound at the door until he opened up. Whatever this is he almost certainly doesn't want to do it face to face. He pours himself a drink, lets it rest in his hand as though reacquainting himself with the feel of the glass. He takes a sip and picks up the tablet.
“Miss Ross, this is Don Draper,” he says, crisp, businesslike. “What can I do for you?”
"You may stop assuming that I have nothing better to do than wait patiently for you to return my message, for one." If the child Mattie demonstrated little patience with the inactivity of others, her adult self has absolutely none at all. It isn't as though she's expecting this conversation to pleasant either, and that's certainly contributing to her brusqueness.
"We ought to speak. You cannot sweep under the carpet the fact that you were a child under my care for some time, just as I cannot ignore that I was once in a similar situation. We left things unresolved between us when I was here last, and I would like to remedy that before I leave again."
Don lowers his tablet to the desk. Rests his head against the heel of his hand. He stares at the liquid in his glass until his vision starts to blur, then raises the drink to his lips for a gulp. The sound turns his stomach.
“We are speaking,” he says tiredly, fear taut beneath the words like the muscles of an animal tensed to flee.
“I'm not-is that what you think this is? I have work. I have an agency to get up and running and I wasn't counting on spending three weeks in short pants.”
Comments 27
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
H-hello, Mister, um, Don? I-it's Glitch, you loaned me a typewriter a couple months ago? I can talk again, by the way. Anyway, ah, sorry I didn't get back to you sooner but I was busy and then I I thought you'd gone but you turned back up again, which is good, and...I did a few things. With the typewriter. B-but it works fine and if you wanna pick it up it's at the shop in Spe- in Osten, either me or DG or Kaylee'll be around. Um. Bye?
[ there is some confused muttering about how to end these things, and then a click. ]
Reply
He forgets the message until he finds himself retracing a path he knows instinctively. The shop looks stunted, shabby. The sounds emerging from it-clanks, whistles, the chuff of steam-are no longer mysteries or invitations. Just noise. He pushes open the door, steps inside. “Hello?”
Reply
"Hello! How can I--" His expression blanks a moment, then the smile comes back with genuine enthusiasm. "Mr Draper! Hello, come on in, I-I've got the thing for you."
Reply
Reply
Finally, once he's done with Walter, he checks the tablet. He could ignore the message but knowing Mattie she'd only track him down, pound at the door until he opened up. Whatever this is he almost certainly doesn't want to do it face to face. He pours himself a drink, lets it rest in his hand as though reacquainting himself with the feel of the glass. He takes a sip and picks up the tablet.
“Miss Ross, this is Don Draper,” he says, crisp, businesslike. “What can I do for you?”
Reply
"We ought to speak. You cannot sweep under the carpet the fact that you were a child under my care for some time, just as I cannot ignore that I was once in a similar situation. We left things unresolved between us when I was here last, and I would like to remedy that before I leave again."
Reply
“We are speaking,” he says tiredly, fear taut beneath the words like the muscles of an animal tensed to flee.
“I'm not-is that what you think this is? I have work. I have an agency to get up and running and I wasn't counting on spending three weeks in short pants.”
The old threadbare excuses.
Reply
Leave a comment