International Rescue: The Next Phase


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Re: Gear Up and Buckle Down [message #2060 is a reply to message #2059] Sun, 29 July 2012 12:23 Go to previous messageGo to previous message
Tikatu is currently offline  Tikatu
Messages: 813
Registered: April 2012
Location: South Carolina
Karma:
Field Commander
Ubiquitous one
Tuesday 03 April. 10.55am. Tracy Island.

Uh huh, uh huh. Check, check, check-check... I see there was an over-shipment of tongue depressors at some stage, heh-heh. Houl' on a sec: that's funny...oh, wait, never mind. Eejit. Right, w' need more of these sterile dressings. Ugh, they're Pharmacore. I hate them. Oh well, it's not my prerogative, and they do the job... Dum-dum-da-dee-dum -- oh great. There's that bloody song in my head again. Just get on with it, man. Yuck, more Pharmacore. Bloody selfish -- oh, leave it, Kelly! Boy, you really can...ugh, forget it. Hum-hum. Well, that's me. Now for the final tally... Ugh, curse my lack of mathematical skill. Where's that calculator... Ah! Here we go... C'est fini.

The small calculator was snapped closed and placed in the breast pocket of the crisp white, blue-trimmed tunic -- Dominic still chose to wear it while working, even if he did not need to. It was a comfort, in a way. He tapped the door of the storage compartment he had been taking inventory of lightly, and the hydraulic levers wheezed as it slowly shut -- a handy design that meant less closing and more attending -- and he glanced about the cleaned and prepped sickroom. It was becoming ever more familiar to him; he definitely did not regret taking up this job. Of course, 'it' did not just refer to the clean room around him. 'It' was, well, everything.

He ran a hand through his lengthening hair -- he knew he should probably get it cut, but in all honestly could not be bothered -- and straightened his glasses, before glancing around the room one more time. Satisfied that his work was completed for the afternoon, he saved his inventory into the electronic logbook, ready for inspection by Doctor Tracy, and wandered out of the sickroom, tapping his lip with one long, squat-nailed finger.

The plan for the afternoon was one that had been brewing in his mind for some time: the apartment. It was big, he would give it that; much more spacious than anything he would ever have been able to afford on his own. But it had to be said: the place was bland. It would be fair to say that it was as bland as his old physics teacher's bobbled, dreary cardigans, and that was something Dominic Kelly could not abide. Where was the 'oomph', the vivacity, the life? The walls were a strange not-quite-white colour, and the furniture was all very pleasant and functional.

But who cared about pleasant and functional? Who gave a flying monkey's banjo? What Dominic Kelly wanted was colour and texture; he wanted a happy environment for his young son. And that was exactly what he planned to create.

Truthfully, he loved the Tracys for leaving the apartment bland. What could be better than to be handed a blank canvas to decorate as you so pleased? He had two bedrooms, a huge living room/kitchen, and a bath and a half to play with: he was one happy man. He was one very happy man. Plans had begun to form as he had scrutinized the rooms; a smile flitted across his face as he thought about them. He had spent many hours decorating in his youth, in the various houses he had lived in over the years.

There had been a lot of houses; it came from being the son of a woman whose only wish was to keep moving, to keep changing. His mother's good eye for colour had passed on to him, and although Dominic couldn't even draw a straight line with a ruler, he was good at decorating, and he enjoyed it.

His introspective reverie was broken as a familiar, "Hey, Dom!" reached him as he walked through the lounge. Gordon was glancing over from his perch in one of the comfy soft chairs, a magazine clutched in his hands.

"Gordon," Dominic said amiably, changing his trajectory to walk towards the redhead.

"I know the look of a man planning something, and it's plain on your face. What's up?" Gordon asked.

Dominic smiled and tapped the side of his nose.

"Ooh, the plans indeed, Mister Gordon." He stopped for a moment. "Want in on it? It's nothing very interesting, but it had the potential to be fun."

At the word 'fun', Gordon was up in a shot, the magazine falling to the ground.

"I'm there!" he said with a grin.

***

"Decorating? Decorating? I thought you said 'fun'!"

"It will be fun," said Dominic, whose voice was emanating from the larger of the two bedrooms of the apartment.

Gordon was waiting in the main lounge area of the frankly boring apartment, his arms crossed, as Dominic changed out of his work tunic. He shook his head and sighed. Hooray, work. What was the man on about, 'fun'? He was obviously insane. Said madman walked in from the bedroom rubbing his hands together and grinning.

"So, will you help me?"

If it weren't for the fact that he had a reputation as a really nice guy, Gordon would have said no. But he found he couldn't, and reluctantly agreed. Dominic clapped him on the back; it was a surprisingly strong thump, Gordon thought, considering how skinny the other man was.

"Now," said Dominic, "want to come and be Uncle Gordon for a while with me?"

That was something Gordon didn't need to think twice about.

"I'm there," he said, smiling.

Post by ArtisticRainey on 03/02/2005

Jeff heartbeat Dianne plain My IR:TNP OTP!

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