Wilford Warfstache (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cottoncandypink) wrote2018-03-11 04:04 am
cottoncandypink) wrote2018-03-11 04:04 am
Ask Dennis. Just please don’t go alone
Of course Nichola let the dog out. Why wouldn’t she? She was angry at him over some ancient history, so she wanted to come shout at him and let his dog out. That was exactly what had happend. Naturally.
He found himself checking his Tweetr replies, but there was nothing useful in them. Most of his followers were just there to see what would irritate him next, so a lost dog was just meme material for them. Bunch of anonymous assholes. By the time it had got dark, everything started to calm down. Nobody wanted to even pretend to be helpful, because something new had probably come along and distracted everybody. Animal control had told him to stop calling, and even going out to walk through the streets and shout for the animal brought up nothing. Buster was gone. The overnight news wasn’t distracting enough, and nothing else seemed like a worthwhile use of time, so Wilford spent most of the night carrying the dog’s leash through the neighbourhood and trying to lure him home. He did lure some dogs, but none were the ones he wanted. Most of them looked just as sad and pathetic as Buster had when Wilford first found him.
Day broke with Wilford standing in the living room with a cup of coffee, staring out onto the empty street below. Nichola texted him about every half hour, but he’d taken to ignoring her. It was her fault anyway. He wasn’t going to make her feel any better by responding to her platitudes.
When his phone rang, Wilford nearly jumped out of his skin. He didn’t recognise the number, but for once that made it worth answering. There was something slightly off about the woman’s voice on the other end, but he wasn’t concerned with that at the moment.
“Is this Buster’s dad?” she asked.
“You found him?” Wilford asked, scrambling to pull his stenopad out of his inventory so he could take down information.
The woman on the other end laughed. “Yes, he’s here. He’s a little confused, but in good spirits. He got on the train and wound up out here in Rowan.”
“Rowan?” Wilford asked. Where in the fuck was Rowan? He abanoned his stenopad in exchange for his laptop so he could look it up.
“Are you going to be home today? I can pick him up,” he said, already searching for directions.
As soon as he saw the pin on the map, his stomach dropped.
“Yes, I’ll be home today. 323. That’s Los Santos, isn’t it? That’s an awful long drive. Shall I feed him?”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Uh. Yeah. He likes eggs and fish.”
Rowan was out in the middle of the fucking desert. Exactly where Wilford didn’t want to go.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“We’ll be waiting for you. It’s Wilford, isn’t it?” the woman asked.
Wilford tried to remember if he’d put his name on Buster’s tags. He was pretty sure he hadn’t. But maybe they had internet and Tweetr out in the desert.
“Yeah. Uh. I’ll see you soon. Thanks.”
He hung up as quickly as he could. Fuck the desert. Wilford squinted at the map, trying to reconcile what he saw with what he’d been told. Apparently, he was going to Rowan! He pulled his contacts up on his phone and dialled Nichola.
“Hey, you. What’s the news?” she said when she finally answered after way too many rings.
“I need to go to Rowan to pick him up.”
“Oh! Where’s that?” Nichola asked.
“It’s out by Nevada. By the border,” Wilford said. The more he looked at the map, the more certain he was that the train did not go to Rowan.
“Oh,” Nichola said again, this time more slowly. “Is anyone going with you?”
“You are!” Wilford demanded.
“I can’t. I’m in a meeting that you’re also supposed to be in right now,” she said. “We can’t both not be here.”
“You lost him!” Wilford reminded her harshly.
“Ask Dennis. Just please don’t go alone,” Nichola said. She said something else, muffled as if speaking away from the phone, before the call cut off.
Wilford wanted to throw his phone. He resisted and phoned Billy instead, utterly unsprised when he didn’t even bother to answer.
He could drag Autor along with him. It would take some convincing. Or he could just haul the kid over his shoulder, but that seemed like a good way to get bitten. Hmm. He’d come up with a solution on the way downstairs.
He found himself checking his Tweetr replies, but there was nothing useful in them. Most of his followers were just there to see what would irritate him next, so a lost dog was just meme material for them. Bunch of anonymous assholes. By the time it had got dark, everything started to calm down. Nobody wanted to even pretend to be helpful, because something new had probably come along and distracted everybody. Animal control had told him to stop calling, and even going out to walk through the streets and shout for the animal brought up nothing. Buster was gone. The overnight news wasn’t distracting enough, and nothing else seemed like a worthwhile use of time, so Wilford spent most of the night carrying the dog’s leash through the neighbourhood and trying to lure him home. He did lure some dogs, but none were the ones he wanted. Most of them looked just as sad and pathetic as Buster had when Wilford first found him.
Day broke with Wilford standing in the living room with a cup of coffee, staring out onto the empty street below. Nichola texted him about every half hour, but he’d taken to ignoring her. It was her fault anyway. He wasn’t going to make her feel any better by responding to her platitudes.
When his phone rang, Wilford nearly jumped out of his skin. He didn’t recognise the number, but for once that made it worth answering. There was something slightly off about the woman’s voice on the other end, but he wasn’t concerned with that at the moment.
“Is this Buster’s dad?” she asked.
“You found him?” Wilford asked, scrambling to pull his stenopad out of his inventory so he could take down information.
The woman on the other end laughed. “Yes, he’s here. He’s a little confused, but in good spirits. He got on the train and wound up out here in Rowan.”
“Rowan?” Wilford asked. Where in the fuck was Rowan? He abanoned his stenopad in exchange for his laptop so he could look it up.
“Are you going to be home today? I can pick him up,” he said, already searching for directions.
As soon as he saw the pin on the map, his stomach dropped.
“Yes, I’ll be home today. 323. That’s Los Santos, isn’t it? That’s an awful long drive. Shall I feed him?”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Uh. Yeah. He likes eggs and fish.”
Rowan was out in the middle of the fucking desert. Exactly where Wilford didn’t want to go.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“We’ll be waiting for you. It’s Wilford, isn’t it?” the woman asked.
Wilford tried to remember if he’d put his name on Buster’s tags. He was pretty sure he hadn’t. But maybe they had internet and Tweetr out in the desert.
“Yeah. Uh. I’ll see you soon. Thanks.”
He hung up as quickly as he could. Fuck the desert. Wilford squinted at the map, trying to reconcile what he saw with what he’d been told. Apparently, he was going to Rowan! He pulled his contacts up on his phone and dialled Nichola.
“Hey, you. What’s the news?” she said when she finally answered after way too many rings.
“I need to go to Rowan to pick him up.”
“Oh! Where’s that?” Nichola asked.
“It’s out by Nevada. By the border,” Wilford said. The more he looked at the map, the more certain he was that the train did not go to Rowan.
“Oh,” Nichola said again, this time more slowly. “Is anyone going with you?”
“You are!” Wilford demanded.
“I can’t. I’m in a meeting that you’re also supposed to be in right now,” she said. “We can’t both not be here.”
“You lost him!” Wilford reminded her harshly.
“Ask Dennis. Just please don’t go alone,” Nichola said. She said something else, muffled as if speaking away from the phone, before the call cut off.
Wilford wanted to throw his phone. He resisted and phoned Billy instead, utterly unsprised when he didn’t even bother to answer.
He could drag Autor along with him. It would take some convincing. Or he could just haul the kid over his shoulder, but that seemed like a good way to get bitten. Hmm. He’d come up with a solution on the way downstairs.