Chapter 10: When We Have Shuffled Off This Mortal Coil

(Z: That's right. Shakespeare. We just got classy all up in here, yo.)

Today was Altin's first day off since the move, and he was determined to spend it with Elsie. Time for some father-daughter bonding. Not that he knew anything about father-daughter bonding.

But hungry horses wait for no one, as Spot reminded him with an early morning bite. Huh. He hadn't gotten one of those in a while. In fact, there was something about her behavior this morning that seemed off, and yet somehow familiar. Something about how she carried herself, and how crotchety she was...

Oh. Oh. Well, that was what he got for letting her run around with a stallion all day.

More babies. Great.

Speaking of stallions...Altin had to admit, it was nice to be able to feed at least one member of his family without having to count his fingers afterwards.

And now, time to get down to business. Kids like books, right?

A book about counting was probably the wrong choice for someone that couldn't read. He was pretty sure Elsie didn't even know what some of these objects were.

"Then again, I don't know what any of these things are, either. Let's see, two green dead frogs, three balls of sparkly blue tinfoil?"

Okay, Plan B. Time to teach Elsie to walk. Altin could do this. His body was a finely honed athletic machine (or so he preferred to tell himself). He was the Grand High Master of walking.

"So...here we go, three, two, and...walk."

*sigh*

Potty break.

"I think we're going about this the wrong way...

How about this. Three...two...and...walk, please? Pretty please?"

Elsie was pretty sure that wasn't going to help.

If Altin had taught her to talk yet, he was positive she'd be saying "I told you so." That, or cursing him out for suggesting this whole "standing" thing. One or the other.

But to both her and Altin's surprise, she regained her balance and half-stumbled the last few steps, falling into her daddy's arms.

"Holy cow, it worked--uh, I mean, I knew you could do it!"

Hmm. Altin was willing to concede there might be a bit of a family resemblance after all. He hadn't realized OMFGfaces were genetically inherited.

Grey Meadow got colder than Appaloosa, especially at night, so after getting the little champion settled in, Altin went out to make sure Spot came into the barn to sleep. He was determined to have everything go smoothly about this foaling, now that he knew what he was doing. In theory.

He got a bit distracted though. Seems like the Ripley family tradition of dropping in unannounced couldn't be stopped, even by the Grim Reaper.

Oh man, was she floating? WEIRD.

"I thought you were busy. You know, being...uh...well, dead."

"Yeah, apparently there's something to that whole 'unable to move on' thing. Who knew? Oh, Watcher, I'm a Patrick Swayze movie. That's just sad."

"Nahh. You don't have the cheekbones for it. Now, me, on the other hand..."

"If you make a joke about getting attached, I swear I'll possess your shower curtain."

"Not that this isn't nice and all, but what's the deal, here?" Altin asked later. "Are you sticking around? Should I go look up ghostbusters in the phonebook? Because you guys have that here. There's totally a 'ghostbusters' category. It's HUGE."

Kirk sighed (without needing to breath. Again, WEIRD.). "I'm probably supposed to be getting over my unresolved emotional issues or whatever." 

He turned at that. "You are? Did someone tell you that? Oh, man, is the Watcher real? Is it true bad Sims go to Error 12 Hell? Hold on, I should take notes."

"In reverse order, what?, I don't know, and yeah, my childhood shrink."

Altin leaned back down. "So what do you think it is, then? Elsie? She started walking today. Maybe she'll be a dancer or something when she grows up."

It was hard to tell through all the glowing, but Kirk's smile seemed more wistful than pleased. 

"Yeah...maybe..." She looked up. "It's almost full daylight and I'm feeling all tingly, so while we're both still here there's some things you need to know."

Altin listened as she pointed out the neighbors that were okay for toddler playdates, and the house with the massive dog Elsie was afraid of, and all sorts of other details he hadn't even begun to notice about his daughter. When Kirk broke off suddenly and looked around, as if someone had come up to them and interrupted, he knew something had. 

"You need to go, right? Got to go 'poof' and vanish?"

"I'm kind of hoping for more of a dramatic mist. Poof is so '80s stage magician." They stood up and looked at each other awkwardly for a moment before Kirk stepped in for an embrace.

"Look, I know I don't do serious well, but I'm being serious now. Don't worry. I'm not. Whatever fear is keeping me here, it's not over Elsie. You've got this. I know you do, and don't you dare argue that, because I'm always right."

Before Altin could argue it anyway, she faded away, and he was alone.

Dramatic mist. Damn it, she was always right.

Chapter 8, part 2: Strange New Colors

Altin didn't want to risk drawing attention to himself by shipping a bunch of large boxes from a supposedly vacant old warehouse, so it didn't take him very long at all to pack. Clothing, books, only what he could fit in Spot's saddlebags. It was still well after dark when they finally arrived at the Grey Meadow farmhouse the Ripley family had owned.

It was an odd old house. The little stone wall was well-maintained, but the paint was peeling from the window shutters and the grass was thin and heavily trodden. The lot seemed...sad.

Wow, Altin was getting melancholy. He needed to get some sleep.

After letting Spot into the empty stall, he looked in on Eastwood, who seemed none the worse for wear.

He got a little lost looking for the front door, before he realized the entire house was built on the barn's second story loft. He turned the corner looking for the way upstairs and ran headlong into a young girl coming down the steps.

"Oh, hi!" she said, sounding out of breath. "You must be Elsie's dad. I guess the social worker found you and sorted everything out or whatever?" She didn't bother to wait for an answer. "Listen, it's way late so I need to get home, but I left my number by the phone if you need any babysitting. It's the one labeled Kylee."

Upstairs, Altin realized two things. First: he really didn't know Kirk that well, or her parenting rules, schedule, dislikes, likes... And second: one of those likes was color.

EVERYWHERE.

He tracked down the nursery. And Elsie, who had slept soundly through the noise from downstairs. 

Hey, she was pretty cute. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

The sun was starting to rise by the time he found the master bedroom, the light hitting the violet furnishings reminding him so much of that night in the Appaloosa house that he paused in the center of the room. The bedroom was so...not his. So Kirk's. He didn't think he'd be able to sleep here, not while it looked like this.

He bedded down in the nursery, in what he assumed was Elsie's grandfather's bed. This strange new house, new town, and new life would take some getting used to, but he desperately wanted a full night's sleep first.

He woke up once during the "night". He needed a bathroom. Badly. Back to exploring.

"Really, Kirk? Really?"

Chapter 4: Arrivals

The Organization wasn't your typical workplace. It was isolated, regularly dangerous, and of course illegal, and everyone lived in fear of attracting the attention of the police, or worse, the boss. So Altin's arrival at the office wasn't particularly fun at the best of times...and certainly not when he was running on two hours of sleep while nursing a nasty set of bruises, apologetic as Spot might be.

But today he wasn't the only one sneaking into the office late after an exhausting weekend.

Altin recognized the pretty redhead as one of the getaway drivers Oxendine kept on staff for more complicated jobs. It seemed like she was trying and failing to remember the door combination through what appeared to be a hangover of truly impressive proportions.

"Someone had a fun weekend, huh?" Altin teased as he leaned past her to type in the code. The driver smirked, and looked like she was trying to decide whether to groan or laugh. "Oh, you have no idea...Snickerson, right? The decoy? I'm Kirk, Kirk Ripley."

"Thief, actually, I'm just...new. Ah, Kirk...?"

"My dad lost a bet. Long story, but I need to be drunk to tell it right. So what's a fine, upstanding businessman like yourself doing getting to work an hour late? I mean, I've got an excuse, but you..."

"I don't think the boss would see 'drunken revelry' as an excuse."

"Yeah, you're probably right. I'd better tell her I was in jail..."

It was only much later, as they were debating the relative merits of Kirk's mustang Eastwood compared to Spot (Eastwood won by virtue of not being a sadistic hand-eater) while entirely ignoring their dual tardiness that Altin realized he really, really liked this girl. 

He liked her a lot. She was funny, and gorgeous, and she agreed with some of Altin's more harebrained schemes instead of suggesting he might be a little bit crazy. And she wasn't about to call the police on him for escaping from prison, and thought it was hilarious that he had stolen a zebra "because it was looking at you funny," as she put it. Yes, she was probably his perfect woman--

"Nah, I wasn't always aiming to be criminal scum. My family and I were originally all trainers for problem horses."

Cancel that. Definitely his perfect woman.

"Hey, how about we blow this popsicle stand and you can show me some tips back at your place to get Spot to stop eating my newspapers?"

Altin was never so glad to see someone agree with him in his life.

When they got to the Kirk house, he was accosted almost immediately by a big brown puppydog of a stallion.  This had to be the overly friendly Eastwood.

"Why do all the horses in this town want to eat me...?"

"Oh Altin...if you're done playing with the pretty pony, there's a pretty girl who'd like her turn..."

Instant cure for horse-related distraction, that was.

"...and that concludes the tour, ladies and gentlemen. Please remember to tip your tourguide on the way out."

"Some tour," Altin quipped as he leaned back against the frame of the bed. "You only showed me the bedroom."

"Yeah, but that's the part that counts!"

"I can work with that logic," he murmured, leaning in.

They never did get back to work that day. 

(EDIT: This is Kirk, when she's not making weird faces or standing in profile)