Wilford Warfstache (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cottoncandypink) wrote2019-05-16 12:14 am
cottoncandypink) wrote2019-05-16 12:14 am
Maybe the place out in Idlewood would be fun. He’d have to find a good pair of shoes for it, though
He was surprised at how many people had signed up for this league. Even more surprised that most of them showed up. The team was made up of people from their lot, and the lot to their south, so Wilford recognised most of the people there. Recognised, but didn’t know. A few folks from his studio were there, and a small handful from Jackson’s studio. They grouped together, lazily sprawling on the bleachers while more people slowly wandered in. Wilford half-listened to the conversation happening around him while he watched the college kids that would be running their team try to figure out what they were doing. Not for the first time, Wilford wondered if he had better ways to spend his time. He’d signed up on an impulse born out of boredom, but had been convinced that it had been a good idea. Being active in leisure activities within the network might make him seem less like he was about to do something to destroy it.
And it would probably be more fun than soloing at the cages. And after his practise session with Klaus, maybe amateurs were going to be more his speed anyway.
He had other things on his mind though. Wilford pulled out his phone and went to Google, looking up local restaurants and clubs. Google had picked up an annoying habit of recommending his own restaurant every time he searched, but that was out of the question - barely a step above fast food, for his purposes. Something with a dress code seemed more like his speed for once.
He had a few idea by the time their intern coaches figured out what they were doing and started calling everyone to attention. Wilford put his phone away and sat back to listen to an awkward explanation of how the league worked and what they could expect.
“We’re here for fun,” one of the intern coaches said. “We aren’t trying out for talent. We’re just looking for what might be the best place for everybody. I’m guessing most of you probably played little league or pick-up games at some point, but we don’t expect anyone to be pro-level.”
“That’s you out, then,” Billy said quietly, nudging Wilford in the ribs. Wilford swatted him away.
“What?” the second intern coach asked. “Someone was pro?”
Wilford shook his head. “Pitched four seasons for Georgetown,” he said. “But I didn’t go to school to play sports.”
Both of their coaches looked at each other, suddenly lost. “Oh. Well. Anyone… else?” he asked.
Signing up had been a bad idea. Wilford regretted it already. Most of the people who signed up were at least coordinated enough to throw a ball roughly where they wanted it to go, and some could even hit a ball that was thrown at them. And thanks to Billy’s big fat mouth, it was only inevitable that Wilford wound up on the mound, lobbing ball after ball to help rank their team with consistent throws.
But it was actually kind of fun after a while. Until it was his turn at the plate, and he forgot he was there to have fun and completely misjudged the size of their field. All it took was one broken window, and suddenly nobody wanted to stick around.
Signing up had been a bad idea.
Wilford was home late enough that Andy was halfway through trying to convince Michael to eat dinner. Apparently they were going through that hell again. Wilford suspected he knew why. He’d been working too many hours, and was out of the house too often. Too many hours at the studio, too many hours at the restaurant. Too many nights out with Celine, or afternoons trying to just fucking enjoy himself without stress. Any balance the kid had found had been taken away again, and he was trying to find something he could control. It was probably the reason the kid had stopped talking again. Wilford dropped his gear at the door and walked into the kitchen, waving for Andy to follow him.
“Start bringing him into town again,” he said. “I don’t think he likes being cooped up all day.”
Andy nodded. “What about this thing you’re doing now?” he asked.
Wilford didn’t know. “I’m thinking it’s too much. I’ll probably quit.” He didn’t want to quit. Despite it being a disaster already, he liked having something to do that wasn’t work related. He’d had a fun challenge turning the restaurant around, but now he’d done that and it was turning a regular profit, so he needed something else.
“I think you were right. He’s definitely not ready for preschool,” Andy said. There was more he wasn’t saying, but Wilford didn’t need to hear it. He already knew. The kid could barely handle spending the day with a nanny.
“His shrink wants to evaluate him again in October.” He watched Michael pick at his plate, one grain of rice at a time, dropping it all onto the coffee table. “I’m starting to think he might have been wrong.”
“I’ll leave that to him,” Andy said. “And do some reading up in the mean time.”
Wilford nodded. This was a juggling act he couldn’t even begin to figure out how to handle. There were calls that had to be made, appointments to book. None of it was fun. “It was Celine’s birthday a couple weeks back,” he said. “I was going to take her out one of these nights, but not if he’s going to have a meltdown over it.”
“We haven’t had anything like that for a while,” Andy told him. “It’s normal for them to cry when the parent leaves, but he’s started to accept that pretty well. It’s the inconsistency that’s getting to him, I think.”
Which was Wilford’s suspicion as well. “I’ll make some calls in the morning before I head out, and see what his shrink says,” he decided. He shrugged. “Fuck, maybe it’s a good thing that I don’t know my hours day to day right now.”
“All right,” Andy said. “I’ll plan on bringing him in at four unless I’m told otherwise.”
Wilford checked his watch. “Get out of here,” he said, waving Andy out. “Go home.”
Andy left, already leaving the kitchen to go fetch his things from downstairs. “See you in the morning.”
As Andy saw himself out, Wilford walked out to the living room and sat down on the floor next to Michael. The kid didn’t even look up from whatever important task he was engaged in.
“Why aren’t you eating?” Wilford asked.
Michael babbled wordlessly, keeping his attention on his rice.
“Oh, okay. I get it. You’re mad at me,” Wilford said. He watched Michael for a few moments before he reached out and plucked a piece of chicken off the kid’s plate.
“Hey!” Michael shouted angrily as he watched Wilford eat the chicken.
“You ain’t eating it,” Wilford reasoned.
With a face of pure spite, Michael picked up a single pea from his plate and put it in his mouth.
“What’d you do today?” Wilford asked.
Michael didn’t answer. He plucked another grain of rice from his plate and put it on the table.
“What did you do today?” Wilford repeated, more slowly. Michael continued to ignore him. “I’m going to keep asking until you tell me. What did you do today?”
“No,” Michael said glumly. Wilford picked up a small bit of rice from the plate and ate it. “Hey!” Michael glared at him again, and stuffed a handful of rice into his mouth. The hardest thing in the world was trying to keep a straight face, but somehow Wilford managed it. Once the kid got the rice down, Wilford picked up another piece of chicken from the plate. Before he got too far with it, Michael snatched it out of his fingers and stuffed it into his mouth. Wilford had never seen anyone eat chicken so angrily in his life. He stayed there on the floor, keeping up the act until everything that was on the plate was either eaten or thrown onto the floor. Wilford took the plate to the kitchen, waiting until he was hidden behind the refrigerator to laugh quietly to himself. When he was finally able to maintain a straight face again, he grabbed a towel to clean up the mess.
“Should we take a bath?” he asked.
“NO!” Michael shouted, getting up and running to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him with all his tiny might.
Wilford had never laughed so hard at someone being so pissed off at him. He gave up trying to clean the mess up and decided to let the dogs in to devour it instead. With the kid hiding in his room, and the dogs sniffing out every grain of rice, Wilford sat down and pulled his phone out again to finish what he’d started that afternoon. Maybe the place out in Idlewood would be fun. He’d have to find a good pair of shoes for it, though.
And it would probably be more fun than soloing at the cages. And after his practise session with Klaus, maybe amateurs were going to be more his speed anyway.
He had other things on his mind though. Wilford pulled out his phone and went to Google, looking up local restaurants and clubs. Google had picked up an annoying habit of recommending his own restaurant every time he searched, but that was out of the question - barely a step above fast food, for his purposes. Something with a dress code seemed more like his speed for once.
He had a few idea by the time their intern coaches figured out what they were doing and started calling everyone to attention. Wilford put his phone away and sat back to listen to an awkward explanation of how the league worked and what they could expect.
“We’re here for fun,” one of the intern coaches said. “We aren’t trying out for talent. We’re just looking for what might be the best place for everybody. I’m guessing most of you probably played little league or pick-up games at some point, but we don’t expect anyone to be pro-level.”
“That’s you out, then,” Billy said quietly, nudging Wilford in the ribs. Wilford swatted him away.
“What?” the second intern coach asked. “Someone was pro?”
Wilford shook his head. “Pitched four seasons for Georgetown,” he said. “But I didn’t go to school to play sports.”
Both of their coaches looked at each other, suddenly lost. “Oh. Well. Anyone… else?” he asked.
Signing up had been a bad idea. Wilford regretted it already. Most of the people who signed up were at least coordinated enough to throw a ball roughly where they wanted it to go, and some could even hit a ball that was thrown at them. And thanks to Billy’s big fat mouth, it was only inevitable that Wilford wound up on the mound, lobbing ball after ball to help rank their team with consistent throws.
But it was actually kind of fun after a while. Until it was his turn at the plate, and he forgot he was there to have fun and completely misjudged the size of their field. All it took was one broken window, and suddenly nobody wanted to stick around.
Signing up had been a bad idea.
Wilford was home late enough that Andy was halfway through trying to convince Michael to eat dinner. Apparently they were going through that hell again. Wilford suspected he knew why. He’d been working too many hours, and was out of the house too often. Too many hours at the studio, too many hours at the restaurant. Too many nights out with Celine, or afternoons trying to just fucking enjoy himself without stress. Any balance the kid had found had been taken away again, and he was trying to find something he could control. It was probably the reason the kid had stopped talking again. Wilford dropped his gear at the door and walked into the kitchen, waving for Andy to follow him.
“Start bringing him into town again,” he said. “I don’t think he likes being cooped up all day.”
Andy nodded. “What about this thing you’re doing now?” he asked.
Wilford didn’t know. “I’m thinking it’s too much. I’ll probably quit.” He didn’t want to quit. Despite it being a disaster already, he liked having something to do that wasn’t work related. He’d had a fun challenge turning the restaurant around, but now he’d done that and it was turning a regular profit, so he needed something else.
“I think you were right. He’s definitely not ready for preschool,” Andy said. There was more he wasn’t saying, but Wilford didn’t need to hear it. He already knew. The kid could barely handle spending the day with a nanny.
“His shrink wants to evaluate him again in October.” He watched Michael pick at his plate, one grain of rice at a time, dropping it all onto the coffee table. “I’m starting to think he might have been wrong.”
“I’ll leave that to him,” Andy said. “And do some reading up in the mean time.”
Wilford nodded. This was a juggling act he couldn’t even begin to figure out how to handle. There were calls that had to be made, appointments to book. None of it was fun. “It was Celine’s birthday a couple weeks back,” he said. “I was going to take her out one of these nights, but not if he’s going to have a meltdown over it.”
“We haven’t had anything like that for a while,” Andy told him. “It’s normal for them to cry when the parent leaves, but he’s started to accept that pretty well. It’s the inconsistency that’s getting to him, I think.”
Which was Wilford’s suspicion as well. “I’ll make some calls in the morning before I head out, and see what his shrink says,” he decided. He shrugged. “Fuck, maybe it’s a good thing that I don’t know my hours day to day right now.”
“All right,” Andy said. “I’ll plan on bringing him in at four unless I’m told otherwise.”
Wilford checked his watch. “Get out of here,” he said, waving Andy out. “Go home.”
Andy left, already leaving the kitchen to go fetch his things from downstairs. “See you in the morning.”
As Andy saw himself out, Wilford walked out to the living room and sat down on the floor next to Michael. The kid didn’t even look up from whatever important task he was engaged in.
“Why aren’t you eating?” Wilford asked.
Michael babbled wordlessly, keeping his attention on his rice.
“Oh, okay. I get it. You’re mad at me,” Wilford said. He watched Michael for a few moments before he reached out and plucked a piece of chicken off the kid’s plate.
“Hey!” Michael shouted angrily as he watched Wilford eat the chicken.
“You ain’t eating it,” Wilford reasoned.
With a face of pure spite, Michael picked up a single pea from his plate and put it in his mouth.
“What’d you do today?” Wilford asked.
Michael didn’t answer. He plucked another grain of rice from his plate and put it on the table.
“What did you do today?” Wilford repeated, more slowly. Michael continued to ignore him. “I’m going to keep asking until you tell me. What did you do today?”
“No,” Michael said glumly. Wilford picked up a small bit of rice from the plate and ate it. “Hey!” Michael glared at him again, and stuffed a handful of rice into his mouth. The hardest thing in the world was trying to keep a straight face, but somehow Wilford managed it. Once the kid got the rice down, Wilford picked up another piece of chicken from the plate. Before he got too far with it, Michael snatched it out of his fingers and stuffed it into his mouth. Wilford had never seen anyone eat chicken so angrily in his life. He stayed there on the floor, keeping up the act until everything that was on the plate was either eaten or thrown onto the floor. Wilford took the plate to the kitchen, waiting until he was hidden behind the refrigerator to laugh quietly to himself. When he was finally able to maintain a straight face again, he grabbed a towel to clean up the mess.
“Should we take a bath?” he asked.
“NO!” Michael shouted, getting up and running to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him with all his tiny might.
Wilford had never laughed so hard at someone being so pissed off at him. He gave up trying to clean the mess up and decided to let the dogs in to devour it instead. With the kid hiding in his room, and the dogs sniffing out every grain of rice, Wilford sat down and pulled his phone out again to finish what he’d started that afternoon. Maybe the place out in Idlewood would be fun. He’d have to find a good pair of shoes for it, though.