maskormenacelogs | life of a disaster master

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life of a disaster master

WHO: Doc Brown and anybody!
WHERE: Assorted places in De Chima and Heropa
WHEN: Throughout August
WHAT: Brooding, searching, shopping, and more!
WARNINGS: old man angst possible

a. De Chima

Doc's finally saved up enough to resurrect his beloved science truck, and with his personal life in disarray, he needs the distraction more than ever. If he's not home, he can likely be found driving this baby: silver, with simple black lettering on the side.

'Dr. E. L. Brown Enterprises: 24 Hour Scientific Services'

The addition of the middle initial makes it sound more professional, in his opinion. He's been driving it a far and wide across town, occasionally stopping at a curious knock to open up and demonstrate. Today's offerings: no time machine cars, unfortunately, but he has ultra-compressed air conditioning units and a garbage-powered light source. Yes, he's picking up banana peels and discarded bags like a garbage man, dropping them right in to create the whirring lights.

"Now that's what I call clean energy," he says with a wink.

b. Heropa

After some bargaining with a few imPorts he knows, he's managed to reach Heropa through unofficial channels. He's here with a purpose, to see his new ally at the broom shop, but in the meantime he's happy to take in the sights.

He's easily spotted with a luau shirt and a wide=brimmed hat, beating the oppressive heat as best he can. He waves to passersby, sipping on a slushie and taking in the sights with interest. The hero scene's so much busier here, he notes.

There's one pressing need, and he extends a hand in the hopes of catching the next passerby's attention.

"Excuse me...would you know where I can locate the library? Or a newsstand, at the very least?"

c. wildcard!
[[feel free to throw a starter or ask me for one!]]

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Doc's housemates may have noticed that the old man's been far less outgoing lately. He largely stays inside his room when he's home, and when he does leave he doesn't say much. The smile never really reaches his eyes anymore.

One night, his frustrations build to a boiling point. He cobbles together the remains of that backyard training course, clenches his fist...and sets it alight, throwing lightning bolts more aggressively than ever before. He moves more quickly than a man his age should be able to, and his fury lights the sky.

It takes a few minutes, but he soon reduces most of the course to smoking rubble. When it's over, he finally drops to the ground, breathing hard. Why the rampage? There's one clue: as soon as the rage passes, he sits for a minute looking longingly at the house next door. How did it come to this?

But this is no time to feel sorry for himself---not in public, anyway. He swallows and starts to push to his feet---just as the sky chooses this moment to open up. Feels like a thunderstorm, and that's perfect for his mood right now. He seems numb to the rain soaking through, eyes still drifting to house 4.

It's another humid morning in Heropa when Doc at last reaches the familiar broom shop. He slips inside, and for reasons he can't entirely explain, he's very glad indeed that he's here. This broom will be a perfect addition to his tiny working space, and aside from that, he's somewhat looking forward to the maker's company. Something had happened the other day, and he intends to get to the bottom of it this time.

"Mr. Gold?"

Edited 2016-08-08 04:09 (UTC)

Gold was prepared for Doctor Brown's visit. He sensed something amiss in their last conversation, and it had left him with much to consider. If the scientist speaks of it at all, the shop could leave him comfortable enough to do so, or it might soothe his worries to the point there's no need to speak of it all. However, if it's the former... He doesn't know if he wants that.

It's less than consent. And for most, why would he give a damn? But with the doctor?

Even the shop's calming aura wasn't enough to stop him thinking this over, but he wasn't agonizing at least. It helps him come to a conclusion.

"Hello, Doctor." He still wears an easy smile, removes his apron and hangs it as he comes to the front of the shop to meet him.

Komasan probably picked one of the weirder times to finally settle back into the house he was assigned to in the first place, because this is definitely not how he'd expect his nights to go. Before the storm even hits, a very sleepy manboy wobbles to the back door, leaning against the frame as he watches Doc go all out.

No one told him he had lightning powers, if only Komajiro were here to see this.

But before he can reminisce about what could be, Doc starts acting even weirder and Komasan's only left with more questions. ...And rain. He's also left with rain. Now his special 'fries before guys' pajamas are totally soaked.

"This is a weird way to sleepwalk, zura."

Doc's attention immediately refocuses from the brooms to Mr. Gold. Oh, they're grand brooms, and he still intends to fulfill his intent to purchase one. But that's only a small part of the reason he's come.

Whatever his issue is, it's still apparent---there are obvious dark circles under his eyes, and his clothes seem to hang a little more loosely than usual. But the doubts feel further and further away.

"As usual, you have fine work on display," he says with a thin smile, stopping in front of a handsome cherry red. "Do you think this suits?"

The familiar voice snaps Doc out of his stupor. All at once, it hits him---the loud rampage, the storm, the cold. This is getting ridiculous, and just because he's making a fool of himself doesn't mean Komasan should suffer for it too.

He shakes his head, noting with a dry laugh how soaked through his hair is. "Sleepwalking would be the more believable excuse. I lost my mind for a few minutes...but here, no need for both of us to freeze."

He rises and starts for the doorway, gently prodding Komasan's arm to bring him along. No point in them both catching cold.

"Oh, certainly." Gold joins him at his side to take the piece down off the wall, holding it carefully in his fingers to show it is balanced. He checks the bristles for any imperfections in the weaving.

As if he needs to.

"If you like it, it is yours."

If Doc's hair is soaked, so is Komasan's stupid mass of whatever you'd want to call it, his curls pretty much devouring the top portion of his face. It's because of this that Komasan is so eager to follow the prodding due to his temporary blindness, he probably would've hit the doorway otherwise.

"If it's lost, shouldn't we look for it, zura?"

Unless he already found it. But with the way he kept staring at that other house, Komasan can't help but wonder if he left it there. Who lives there that steals minds...?

Doc smiles, satisfied with the choice. He produces his card with a flourish.

"With any luck, you'll have enough to move shop shortly," he says kindly. He's eager, both to help and to move to the real reason for his visit.

Now or never, he decides.

Gold hands his card back to him carefully. "I'll put this behind the counter. If you would not be too troubled, I would like to speak to you first." And he can't do that if either of them has one of the brooms in hand.

It takes Doc half a beat to catch up with Komasan's train of thought---maybe he did lose it after all.

"It's a figure of speech," he clarifies. "No need to worry about anything but getting ourselves warm and dry."

To that end, he wrings out his clothing as much as he can in the doorway---these sweats retain far too much moisture. Then he moves in, racing for towels while avoiding trailing water as much as he can. The bigger and fluffier one is tossed to Komasan.

"What were you doing out there? It's a bit late," he says hypocritically.

Well, that's a puzzler. Doc's brow knits as he tries to figure out what Mr. Gold could possibly be getting at. Surely not an issue with the brooms? Something else, but what?

"Gladly, what is it?"

Probably because he can't see, the towel just sort of lands on Komasan, and he stands there like the world's stupidest bathroom-themed ghost. It's only funny because there's probably a youkai already like that. Regardless, the face he makes is heavily implied by the tone of his voice.

"You woke me up, zura."

It's only a few second after that does he finally pull his arms out from under the towel and start to dry his head. His pajama's are still wet, but he doesn't really feel like taking them off there and then.

Gold stores the broom as he said he would, gesturing for him to follow him toward the back room. He unlocks the door and pulls it back to walk through with him, locking again behind. There's a way out in the back, more secluded than standing out front to talk, but once they're outside he knows no magic should be touching them.

The back room has a safe, a rug on the wooden floor, a small bed, but most notable, other than boxes for storage, is an old style spinning wheel, presently with no thread or spindles on it.

Once outside, his nerves have him again, but he's controlled. "I hate to bring you back out in the heat, but it's better we speak here."

It's then that he finally remembers that lightning is loud---considering that it's blown out his eardrums once or twice, surely he should know that. He winces apologetically, stopping his attempt at hair drying to explain.

"I'm sorry---this isn't really the time for target practice, is it? I'll make sure I stick to daylight hours from here on out. Will you be all right?"

Doc's eyes wander in the back room, brow lifting some at the sight of the spinning wheel. Mr. Gold certainly likes his antiques, doesn't he? He smiles to himself just a little as they return to the Florida sun.

"Better out in the open than behind closed doors?"

He can't fathom what Gold is worried about, but it doesn't sound good.

Gold sighed, collecting himself.

"You're troubled," he says plainly. "I know you are; I knew when we spoke last, and -- well, I've known you long enough to feel concerned. What's more, I don't know if you mean to speak of it. But if you are, it can't be in there or with one of my brooms in hand."

So it was that obvious. Doc's emotions are a strange mix at the moment: embarrassment, relief, and confusion swirl together in a tight entanglement. He's suddenly feeling shy, yet touched that Gold cares, and utterly confused by these specifications.

"Those are strangely specific conditions. May I ask why not?"

He's curious here, not accusatory in the least.

Gold's eye moves to the handle of his cane. "Because of magic," he answered plainly. It is not to be any great secret. All of them have powers. He's just been very careful not to show his overtly. "Brooms are symbols of home and hearth. I imbue that in them with magic. The whole shop has that feeling as a result. It...it is a boon to the people that buy them, but it also gives me a calm place to work. Calm that, admitted, I very much need."

That's not quite the answer he expected, to say the least. Doc's mind whirls to fill in the blanks, and when he realizes what this means, he smiles.

"In other words, it would have unnaturally loosened my tongue," he fills in. Not that he has any business drinking alcohol, but now he has a small idea of what it's like. Some part of him says he should be worried, for himself or for Max, but he gets the sense that it's quite the big deal for Gold to tell him this.

He smiles. "Your magic didn't drive me to come all this way," he admits. "I realized after that I wanted to tell you---that you're one of the few who might have understood," he admits. "If that's all right with you? I don't mean to impose..."

"I'm flattered," Gold returns. "And I do not wish to alarm you. The aura is...it's not strong. Might warm one a little with a single broom in their home. But if you would not have been comfortable speaking to me otherwise, even a small nudge is unfair. Not without you knowing."

It's only strong enough to take the edge off his anxiety when it's there.

"If you feel comfortable going back in, now that you are aware..."

"I do," Doc says firmly, giving Gold a rather obvious once-over as he makes his way back to the door. This man and his suits... "I fear we both might be in danger if we stay out here any longer than strictly necessary."

That calm might be what he needs to sort through this, anyway.

Gold leads him back into the shop, relieved at having been honest without it blowing up in his face. It always feels like it does, but then he is also more given to doling out half-truths. Once back in the main part of the shop, the other doors locked behind them again, he seems more at ease himself, a little sigh as the aura fully envelops him again, gives him calm.

"Thank you for allowing me to explain."

"And thank you for explaining," he answers softly. Now that he knows part of the odd mystery that drew him here, he's even more relaxed---how this
'magic' does that is still a mystery, but he's slowly learned to accept that the laws of physics don't cover everything.

"You're right, I haven't quite been myself lately," he admits, fidgeting with his hands. "You recall our mutual friend, Max? He recently visited Marty, my first and dearest friend, and when I arrived a heated argument erupted between us all about Max's friendship with me---it's been building for months and I was too blind to see it," he says bitterly, his knuckles turning white.

"Marty believes I've replaced him with new friends, and all the worse, Max and the others can't possibly be genuine because they're what we call 'fans'. Meaning that in many imPorts' worlds, Marty and I are fictional characters from a famous film. I've learned to adjust, but Marty believes that they're idol-chasers, not real friends, and I'm rejecting him for them---"

He rakes a hand through his hair, the bitter regret obvious in his expression. "I dismissed this, and we haven't spoken since, but now I've been wondering whether he was right. I certainly know that I've been no friend to him as of late."

Edited 2016-08-08 05:47 (UTC)

Gold absorbs his explanation without interjecting. He is intent, open, thoughtful of the problems he is explaining. While he is among those that knows of both the Doctor and Marty McFly as characters, just from vague curse awareness, the concept of being a fictional figure in other worlds is not new to him, and he has lived so long and been to so many that it's hard to remember what it was like the first time he learned such a thing of himself, or the uncomfortable (and often inaccurate) assumptions that came with.

The rest, he has some closer vantage point to pull from. At least once. His time with Belle felt so long ago now, but he'd felt some discomfort when she began to make friends in Storybrooke.

"I do not get close to many people," he offers. "When I do, I am sometimes wary, especially when they are more social than I am. Perhaps I worry they find their other friends more interesting. But I am also not an easy man to like, and at home I come with a bad reputation to boot. I cannot imagine what it must be like to be faced with that same anxiety in a place I was brought to by force, with so few pieces of home coming with me."

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life of a disaster master

closed to vicinity of De Chima 03

closed to Mr. Gold

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