Wilford Warfstache (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cottoncandypink) wrote2017-10-21 12:47 pm
cottoncandypink) wrote2017-10-21 12:47 pm
It was time to get the hell out of the trenches and do something fun
Moving sucked. Wilford hated everything about it, but after two years of correspondent work on someone else’s show, great things were finally happening. With enough sweet talk and arm-twisting, he’d managed to keep everybody on board through the whole oreal, and now finally it was paying off, and he’d made good on his word. It was time to get the hell out of the trenches and do something fun.
Wilford couldn’t remember what it was about Mirror Park he hadn’t liked the first time around. He just knew that he hadn’t liked it. A house up in the hills with a bit of space between him and the neighbours seemed like a better choice this time. On the other hand, it meant that even the smallest properties were way too damn big for just one person to live in. It also didn’t have much of a yard in any real sense, which ordinarily would fly right past his radar. This time was different, because Buster needed a space of his own outside. The small strip of green before the natural terrain took over wasn’t quite ideal, but it was something. And there was always Milliways if he needed to go let the dog run out all his energy.
Wilford hated the house. He hated how much it had cost, and the way it looked, and how everything was the same bland shade of not-quite-white. He hated that he was going to have to spend even more money if he intended to do something to make the house feel like anything other than some anonymous, sterile hospital room. Not that any of his previous apartments had been much better, but at least then he had the excuse of being stopped by a lease. He dealt with that by just never going home, which just seemed like a stupid waste with the amount of money he’d spent on this place.
But the neighbours were all hidden behind walls of tall trees and dips and ridges in the terrain. It was quiet up here; nobody blasting music or racing their cars along the roads. Both were bound to happen sooner or later, but for now, it had peace going for it. And the view from the deck alone was worth some of the cost. Just standing there, overlooking the entire city, it was easy to see why people built houses up in the hills in the first place. But the house itself was nothing short of hateful. It was cold in all the wrong ways, and even with everything painted the same shade of not-quite-white, it still seemed dark and oppressive. But the dog seemed to like it, and had immediately claimed the master bedroom as his own. Which was fine, because it wasn’t like Wilford would ever be using it. All of the dog’s toys got tossed in there beside the bed, and immediately forgotten about as soon as Wilford started putting his kitchen together. Aside from a few basic pieces of furniture, the kitchen was the only real amount of shopping Wilford had done anything for. Rather than trying to move everything across the country, it was cheaper to sell it all in DC and start fresh. Which also had the added bonus of getting everything brand new and in perfect working order. He didn’t have much in the way of dishes or cutlery, but he didn’t need to if it was only ever just going to be him and a dog. Instead, it was all electric kitchen gadgets, sharp knives, cutting boards, a dozen pots and pans, and spoons and spatulas for every occasion. It was going to take a week to get everything settled and put away in a place that would work, but it would be a good distraction from the madness that was going to be getting a new show off the ground.
He was to the point of installing a hanging rack for all the new frying pans when he heard the dog yelp suddenly from the other room. He ran out from the bedroom and into the kitchen, skittering and clacking across the wooden floors all the way. (That flooring would also have to go.)
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked the dog.
Buster skidded to a halt under the table and whimpered. As that answered nothing, Wilford walked back toward the bedroom to see what had bothered the dog so badly. There was nothing there, or anywhere, that he could see. But there was something there. The same something that made everything seem so dark and cold.
“Who do you think you are?” Wilford asked the house in general.
Buster barked from the kitchen, sounding more panicked than intimidating. He probably had the right idea though, so Wilford stomped back to the kitchen and grabbed the biggest wok he had and a wooden spoon.
“This is my fucking house now!” he shouted as he banged on the wok to make as much noise as he could. “Get the fuck out! You’re not welcome here!”
He stopped banging the wok after a few moments, and glared at the empty air around him. There was a brief second where he thought he might have got off easy, but it was a very brief second. Suddenly, the entire house rocked on its foundations as every light burst and plunged everything into darkness.
“Fucking hell!” Wilford shouted, immediately running for the door.
Wilford couldn’t remember what it was about Mirror Park he hadn’t liked the first time around. He just knew that he hadn’t liked it. A house up in the hills with a bit of space between him and the neighbours seemed like a better choice this time. On the other hand, it meant that even the smallest properties were way too damn big for just one person to live in. It also didn’t have much of a yard in any real sense, which ordinarily would fly right past his radar. This time was different, because Buster needed a space of his own outside. The small strip of green before the natural terrain took over wasn’t quite ideal, but it was something. And there was always Milliways if he needed to go let the dog run out all his energy.
Wilford hated the house. He hated how much it had cost, and the way it looked, and how everything was the same bland shade of not-quite-white. He hated that he was going to have to spend even more money if he intended to do something to make the house feel like anything other than some anonymous, sterile hospital room. Not that any of his previous apartments had been much better, but at least then he had the excuse of being stopped by a lease. He dealt with that by just never going home, which just seemed like a stupid waste with the amount of money he’d spent on this place.
But the neighbours were all hidden behind walls of tall trees and dips and ridges in the terrain. It was quiet up here; nobody blasting music or racing their cars along the roads. Both were bound to happen sooner or later, but for now, it had peace going for it. And the view from the deck alone was worth some of the cost. Just standing there, overlooking the entire city, it was easy to see why people built houses up in the hills in the first place. But the house itself was nothing short of hateful. It was cold in all the wrong ways, and even with everything painted the same shade of not-quite-white, it still seemed dark and oppressive. But the dog seemed to like it, and had immediately claimed the master bedroom as his own. Which was fine, because it wasn’t like Wilford would ever be using it. All of the dog’s toys got tossed in there beside the bed, and immediately forgotten about as soon as Wilford started putting his kitchen together. Aside from a few basic pieces of furniture, the kitchen was the only real amount of shopping Wilford had done anything for. Rather than trying to move everything across the country, it was cheaper to sell it all in DC and start fresh. Which also had the added bonus of getting everything brand new and in perfect working order. He didn’t have much in the way of dishes or cutlery, but he didn’t need to if it was only ever just going to be him and a dog. Instead, it was all electric kitchen gadgets, sharp knives, cutting boards, a dozen pots and pans, and spoons and spatulas for every occasion. It was going to take a week to get everything settled and put away in a place that would work, but it would be a good distraction from the madness that was going to be getting a new show off the ground.
He was to the point of installing a hanging rack for all the new frying pans when he heard the dog yelp suddenly from the other room. He ran out from the bedroom and into the kitchen, skittering and clacking across the wooden floors all the way. (That flooring would also have to go.)
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked the dog.
Buster skidded to a halt under the table and whimpered. As that answered nothing, Wilford walked back toward the bedroom to see what had bothered the dog so badly. There was nothing there, or anywhere, that he could see. But there was something there. The same something that made everything seem so dark and cold.
“Who do you think you are?” Wilford asked the house in general.
Buster barked from the kitchen, sounding more panicked than intimidating. He probably had the right idea though, so Wilford stomped back to the kitchen and grabbed the biggest wok he had and a wooden spoon.
“This is my fucking house now!” he shouted as he banged on the wok to make as much noise as he could. “Get the fuck out! You’re not welcome here!”
He stopped banging the wok after a few moments, and glared at the empty air around him. There was a brief second where he thought he might have got off easy, but it was a very brief second. Suddenly, the entire house rocked on its foundations as every light burst and plunged everything into darkness.
“Fucking hell!” Wilford shouted, immediately running for the door.