Fic: Spin Recovery, Part 22
Feb. 13th, 2008 02:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalI've learned something. I think the Vulpine, or at least Rufus, are incapable of engaging in a no-holds barred screaming match of an argument. They're just too damned genteel to indulge in that sort of behavior. So what they do instead is just get snippy with each other until someone starts bleeding.
Rufus rounded the curve of the manor’s driveway, puffing steadily, sweat soaking his fur, coming to halt as he reached the front door. He leaned against it for a moment, letting his breathing and heart rate slow down as he checked his chronometer. He’d finished today’s 5k run in about forty minutes, which was pathetic when compared to what he’d been able to do in his youth, but at least he’d done it without having to stop and throw up. Admittedly much of it had involved walking rather than running, but he considered that a minor point. He had gone the whole distance successfully and he was going to enjoy the moment, at least for a little bit.
After he’d showered and dressed, he went over to the manor’s garage, intent on his latest project. Finding excuses to stay at home but be out of his mother and sister’s way had become increasingly awkward. Bethany’s doubts over his sincerity and his own irritation at his mother’s high handed treatment of the Swiftfoots and their neighbors had left him feeling uncomfortable. But the rent for his rooms was free and so were the meals, so he stuck around, visited his doctor regularly and kept himself busy.
He had to keep busy. The temptation to indulge in Juno or alcohol had been gnawing at him, no matter how much physical exercise he had indulged in. Pushing his body only left him more time to think. Think about Hazel and how he had failed her. Think about his mother, making the wrong decisions for what looked like the right reasons. Think about the looks Bethany had shot his way at the morning and evening meals, seeming to doubt every word he said. Even his confidences with his doctor were becoming awkward. Vague generalities weren’t enough for her curiosity and if he went into details he’d have to reveal exactly who he was to her and then try to explain the really unbelievable parts to her. Not a wise thing to do with someone who could have me committed to an institution for insanity.
Inside the garage, he pulled on a coverall and went over to one corner of the large open bay where the manor’s vehicles were stored and maintained. This little section he had appropriated for himself to work on his project, complete with a separate set of tools that he had bought with his dwindling money from the sale of the White Knight. Pulling back the plastic cover revealed the form of a small, speedy ground car. Once upon a time it had been one of his youthful passions, put together from a kit when he was teenager. Rather than be powered from a conventional electric battery, it had an old fashioned hydrogen cell which fed power to four separate electric motors on each wheel. The roll cage and spoiler were painted a bright orange and there were no body panels to speak of, just the frame containing the driver’s seat, engine and a windscreen. It was a racer, designed for pure speed and only street legal through the grace of the Holy Den Mother and a lawyer’s strict interpretation of traffic laws.
The poor thing had been sitting neglected for over ten years, until he had decided to put it back together in an effort to keep himself distracted from the never ending need in his belly. Six weeks of work had resulted in a complete replacement of the power feeds and fiber optic control lines, an upgrade in the engine’s performance monitor, and a new control yoke to accommodate his current condition. Now he just had to replace the electromagnets in the regenerative brakes and it would be ready to go.
He was just setting the port forward tire back on when he heard a quiet, ladylike cough behind him. Turning, he saw that Bethany was standing at the edge of his space, demarcated by the end of the line of tool shelves along the right wall. She looked terribly out of place in her fine farmer noblevixen’s dress, standing in this cold concrete chamber filled machinery.
“Hullo, Beth,” he said, standing up and wiping his hands on his coveralls.
“Rufus,” she returned cautiously.
“What brings you into my little world here?” he asked. In the past few weeks they had exchanged perhaps four dozen words between them, mostly polite but terse exchanges at breakfast and dinner. He hadn’t dared speak more, for fear of her disbelieving anything he said.
“Peace negotiations. Mother is worried about you.” After a moment she added. “I’m worried about you to.”
“Can’t imagine why. I’m fine.” He kneeled down and started tightening the nuts on the tire with the magna-driver.
“Rufus, don’t turn away from me, please.”
“I’m not turning away from you, Beth. As I recall, you turned away from me.”
She winced at that, appeared to bite back a sharp retort, then responded with, “I’m not going to speak of that conversation after the dinner party. That’s irrelevant as to why I’m here now.”
He tightened the last nut with a jerk and set the tool back in its case, turning to face her again. “Ah, irrelevance. Well, I’ve got plenty of experience with that at least.”
“Oh, fruit, Rufus! Why are you so intent on pushing Mother and I away from you? You’ve been doing so much better at home!”
“Yes, I have. I think I’m coming to the conclusion that my recovery is proceeding despite being home, rather than because I am.”
“That is unfair.”
“You don’t believe a word that comes out of my mouth anymore. Mother doesn’t trust me to finish the jobs she gives me. Would you care to tell me exactly why being here is such an improvement over where I was before?”
“What else are you to do, run away again?”
He started to shuck out of his coveralls, kicking them into the corner. “It worked once.”
She snorted in irritation. “Yes, you were doing so well out there. Rufus, you’re older than I am. When are you going to start acting like a responsible Farmer Lord instead of a spoiled child? By all rights you ought to be our Family Land Administrator!”
He gave her a thin, ironic smile. “I can think of no greater hell. That includes some of the ones my brain has created while I was shooting up. I’m not buying into anymore, Bethany.”
“Buying into what?” she demanded.
“This whole bloody system! Farmer Lords and their loyal commoners. The same damned way of doing things we’ve had since before the bloody Varn took over and after.”
“That ‘system’ and our faith in the Holy Den Mother kept our culture alive.”
“Can’t see why we bothered. Sometimes I think we’d be better off if we followed the Creo and tried fifteen different ways of doing things at once.”
“What and let everything fall into chaos?”
“At least it wouldn’t be boring,” he replied. “Yes, we preserved the aristocracy during the Subjugation, for all the frelling good it did us. All we did was sit on our arses for a thousand years until the humans came along to shake things up. If it weren’t for them we’d probably be happy slaves still.”
“You can’t keep ignoring your House, Rufus! There are things coming on the horizon that you won’t be able to run away from!”
“The Varn aren’t coming back, Bethany. The humans are lying to us,” he told her, slipping into the driver’s seat of his ground car pulling the five point harness tight across his chest and lap.
“How did you know about that, Rufus?” she asked, ears flipping back in surprise.
“Why should I tell you, Beth? You wouldn’t believe me anyway.” He pressed the starter button and the engine roared to life. Before she could even form a coherent answer to his question he’d already pulled out of the garage and was accelerating down the road.
TBC
Rufus rounded the curve of the manor’s driveway, puffing steadily, sweat soaking his fur, coming to halt as he reached the front door. He leaned against it for a moment, letting his breathing and heart rate slow down as he checked his chronometer. He’d finished today’s 5k run in about forty minutes, which was pathetic when compared to what he’d been able to do in his youth, but at least he’d done it without having to stop and throw up. Admittedly much of it had involved walking rather than running, but he considered that a minor point. He had gone the whole distance successfully and he was going to enjoy the moment, at least for a little bit.
After he’d showered and dressed, he went over to the manor’s garage, intent on his latest project. Finding excuses to stay at home but be out of his mother and sister’s way had become increasingly awkward. Bethany’s doubts over his sincerity and his own irritation at his mother’s high handed treatment of the Swiftfoots and their neighbors had left him feeling uncomfortable. But the rent for his rooms was free and so were the meals, so he stuck around, visited his doctor regularly and kept himself busy.
He had to keep busy. The temptation to indulge in Juno or alcohol had been gnawing at him, no matter how much physical exercise he had indulged in. Pushing his body only left him more time to think. Think about Hazel and how he had failed her. Think about his mother, making the wrong decisions for what looked like the right reasons. Think about the looks Bethany had shot his way at the morning and evening meals, seeming to doubt every word he said. Even his confidences with his doctor were becoming awkward. Vague generalities weren’t enough for her curiosity and if he went into details he’d have to reveal exactly who he was to her and then try to explain the really unbelievable parts to her. Not a wise thing to do with someone who could have me committed to an institution for insanity.
Inside the garage, he pulled on a coverall and went over to one corner of the large open bay where the manor’s vehicles were stored and maintained. This little section he had appropriated for himself to work on his project, complete with a separate set of tools that he had bought with his dwindling money from the sale of the White Knight. Pulling back the plastic cover revealed the form of a small, speedy ground car. Once upon a time it had been one of his youthful passions, put together from a kit when he was teenager. Rather than be powered from a conventional electric battery, it had an old fashioned hydrogen cell which fed power to four separate electric motors on each wheel. The roll cage and spoiler were painted a bright orange and there were no body panels to speak of, just the frame containing the driver’s seat, engine and a windscreen. It was a racer, designed for pure speed and only street legal through the grace of the Holy Den Mother and a lawyer’s strict interpretation of traffic laws.
The poor thing had been sitting neglected for over ten years, until he had decided to put it back together in an effort to keep himself distracted from the never ending need in his belly. Six weeks of work had resulted in a complete replacement of the power feeds and fiber optic control lines, an upgrade in the engine’s performance monitor, and a new control yoke to accommodate his current condition. Now he just had to replace the electromagnets in the regenerative brakes and it would be ready to go.
He was just setting the port forward tire back on when he heard a quiet, ladylike cough behind him. Turning, he saw that Bethany was standing at the edge of his space, demarcated by the end of the line of tool shelves along the right wall. She looked terribly out of place in her fine farmer noblevixen’s dress, standing in this cold concrete chamber filled machinery.
“Hullo, Beth,” he said, standing up and wiping his hands on his coveralls.
“Rufus,” she returned cautiously.
“What brings you into my little world here?” he asked. In the past few weeks they had exchanged perhaps four dozen words between them, mostly polite but terse exchanges at breakfast and dinner. He hadn’t dared speak more, for fear of her disbelieving anything he said.
“Peace negotiations. Mother is worried about you.” After a moment she added. “I’m worried about you to.”
“Can’t imagine why. I’m fine.” He kneeled down and started tightening the nuts on the tire with the magna-driver.
“Rufus, don’t turn away from me, please.”
“I’m not turning away from you, Beth. As I recall, you turned away from me.”
She winced at that, appeared to bite back a sharp retort, then responded with, “I’m not going to speak of that conversation after the dinner party. That’s irrelevant as to why I’m here now.”
He tightened the last nut with a jerk and set the tool back in its case, turning to face her again. “Ah, irrelevance. Well, I’ve got plenty of experience with that at least.”
“Oh, fruit, Rufus! Why are you so intent on pushing Mother and I away from you? You’ve been doing so much better at home!”
“Yes, I have. I think I’m coming to the conclusion that my recovery is proceeding despite being home, rather than because I am.”
“That is unfair.”
“You don’t believe a word that comes out of my mouth anymore. Mother doesn’t trust me to finish the jobs she gives me. Would you care to tell me exactly why being here is such an improvement over where I was before?”
“What else are you to do, run away again?”
He started to shuck out of his coveralls, kicking them into the corner. “It worked once.”
She snorted in irritation. “Yes, you were doing so well out there. Rufus, you’re older than I am. When are you going to start acting like a responsible Farmer Lord instead of a spoiled child? By all rights you ought to be our Family Land Administrator!”
He gave her a thin, ironic smile. “I can think of no greater hell. That includes some of the ones my brain has created while I was shooting up. I’m not buying into anymore, Bethany.”
“Buying into what?” she demanded.
“This whole bloody system! Farmer Lords and their loyal commoners. The same damned way of doing things we’ve had since before the bloody Varn took over and after.”
“That ‘system’ and our faith in the Holy Den Mother kept our culture alive.”
“Can’t see why we bothered. Sometimes I think we’d be better off if we followed the Creo and tried fifteen different ways of doing things at once.”
“What and let everything fall into chaos?”
“At least it wouldn’t be boring,” he replied. “Yes, we preserved the aristocracy during the Subjugation, for all the frelling good it did us. All we did was sit on our arses for a thousand years until the humans came along to shake things up. If it weren’t for them we’d probably be happy slaves still.”
“You can’t keep ignoring your House, Rufus! There are things coming on the horizon that you won’t be able to run away from!”
“The Varn aren’t coming back, Bethany. The humans are lying to us,” he told her, slipping into the driver’s seat of his ground car pulling the five point harness tight across his chest and lap.
“How did you know about that, Rufus?” she asked, ears flipping back in surprise.
“Why should I tell you, Beth? You wouldn’t believe me anyway.” He pressed the starter button and the engine roared to life. Before she could even form a coherent answer to his question he’d already pulled out of the garage and was accelerating down the road.
TBC
