#IVE ALWAYS LOVED THAT SILLY OUTFIT HEHEHE

[greensungnostic]

(Grand)father's day

Well, it's Sunday. You promised the old man you'd come for a visit, have a special little father's day with him. It'll be nice, spending time with him outside of his study. You start things off by shuffling sleepily down to the kitchen, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you start up the stove. In a cast iron skillet, you lay down a few slices of thick bacon, a few rolls of sausage, and once they're starting to sizzle and fill the pan with a cheerfully popping sizzle, you crack a few eggs in the to fry in the fat. Next you add some tomato, a few mushrooms, and a strip of black pudding all together, two servings sizzling merrily away in the large pan. You pop a few slices of bread in the toaster, put on a pot of beans to cook, then put the kettle on while you wait for it all to cook up. A Full English Breakfast, his favourite. Once it's all nice and ready, you butter the toast, cut it into triangles, and plate everything up. With a newspaper tucked under your arm, you gather the pair of plates up, floating your teacups along behind you with your powers. You ascend to the second floor on foot, lightly tapping at it with your toeclaws to announce your presence. You call through the door -

grandpa! its fathers day! i brought you your favourite! breakfast in the study!

You finagle his doorknob with your hands full, using your elbow to twist it just enough to pop the latch and enter into the dim, musty room once more. He's here of course, staring long and thoughtful into the fireplace once more, which flares into life when you approach. He never seems to get tired of that trick! You set the plates down at the desk, pulling up the stiff side chair to face it.

oh come on i know you are busy but it is your fathers day breakfast, at least come over here!

He makes no moves from his firewatching vigil, so you roll your eyes and push him over there directly, leaving him standing behind his desk, looking at the pleasant tendrils of fragrant steam rising from his plate. He doesn't sit - never has been one to sit for anything but the fanciest meals. But you do sit, tucking into the hearty meal with a soft smile on your face. You don't go to the trouble of a Full English very often, but it is good. You can see why it's his favourite. He doesn't seem very hungry - he scarcely seems to want to touch it - but you can tell from the twinkle in his eye that he appreciates it all the same.

are you gonna finish that bacon and sausage? no? okay thank you grandpa! hehehe, i know, you dont want to mess up your mustache. it looks very nice today! so sharp, so smart!

You snag his uneaten meats, munching them up, as well as one of his little mushrooms. While you eat, you figure he'd like to hear any new news. You were just here the other day so there's not a ton new, but you can touch on it all the same. It's sweet of him to take interest in his granddaughter's life, after all! You look up at the old man in his Stout Dignity, offering a small smile while you speak.

hmm? no nothing super exciting has happened this week, honestly. just did some more gardening and stuff, you know i love to do that! yes grandpa i make sure im armed. no i dont think every earthworm has a chance to grow - yes i read dune, those dont actually exist or if they do the worms in my soil are not precursors to sandworms!! pffft!

How silly of him, to even think that your garden worms could become shai-hulud.

other than that, ive mostly just been playing this game with some friends! no like an online one! it is called mine craft and it has you... well, mine ores and craft things out of them! theres lots of adventure, monsters to fight, and more! yes im well armed ive got a magic bow and sword! i might be one of the better strife combatants on the server honestly. i run around on a horse named hubble, exploring for resources and building tunnels and quarries and supplying people with stuff! its really fun, id only ever played it alone before recently. you might not like it though, theres no guns! just bows and crossbows. maybe some could be modded in though! or shoot fireworks at people!

He seems interested, though a dourness seems to befall him when he hears there's no firearms. Maybe it's not a good idea, he'd probably kill all the cute non dog animals. At least he seems tickled by your horse's name. Always naming things for scientists, it's the Harley way. You put your fork and knife down, stacking his half full plate atop your empty one to do away with them both - a quick zap of dishes into the sink. You down your tea, then do the same with the cup. You rise up, looking up at the towering old gentleman.

so tonight is a werewolf night so i dont have aaaaalll night unless you really wanna see me go full furry and cavort around like a loon, but i thought you might want to spend some time together outside today? i set up a little shooting range so i can show you my marksmanship! wanna go see how im doing? im on my sixth prestige level on riflekind so you could say im pretty good!

Grandpa doesn't seem averse to the idea. He always wants to make sure you're well armed, well prepared, so showing your prowess is likely to be a good activity! You loop your arms around one of his, green lightning dancing around the two of you before the scene suddenly shifts to a spot outside in the fields. The fruits of your gardening labour, both figurative and literal, sprawl out in all directions to the edges of the ship. The Breeze ruffles through your hair and the looser bits of Grandpa's expeditionary outfit, the smell of flowers and vegetation in the air. Dotted here and there, you've set up little dummy copies of monsters - a papier mâché ogre here, a clay swarm of imps, little rudimentary robotic underlings bobbing and weaving as targets. You can tell Grandpa is surveying the targets, his grip on the Blunderbuss tight. But they're not his to destroy, they're yours. You draw out a stopwatch, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. It's quite a stressor, showing off your skills to your Grandfather. Okay, you're ready. You click the starter....

Strife.

Your spring into action, your GIRL’S BEST FRIEND deploying from within your specibus and into your hands. You fire a volley of pinpoint-accurate shots into a swath of imps, each one perfectly removing the heads in a spray of fine dust. You YOUTHROLL as if avoiding a barrage of attacks, stopping on a knee to switch to the GREEN SUN STREETSWEEPER and eviscerate a mechanical lich. You swap through your rifles one by one, blasting apart the targets you've set up, each shot dead in the middle of the bullseyes painted on them. You slide, you run up a tree and jump off to shoot upside down in midair, you rifle butt a basilisk. For a grand finale you light the papier mâché ogre ablaze with a green sun flamethrower to soften it up, then swap to your LITTLE BUSTER guitar-rifle to first ventilate it, then pummel it into cinders with the base of the instrument. You let out a little cheer and stop the stopwatch, dancing on the spot in celebration. You check the timer. 1:34.62. Just over a minute and a half, not bad. You bound back over to Grandpa, a big grin and a light sheen of sweat on your face. You gesture out over the dust of your destruction, other small bots already scurrying out to collect the destroyed targets, the spent casings.

voila!! howd i do grandpa?? not a bad time for all those baddies, if i do say so myself! do you like the bass guitar? it shoots .45s and also grenades from the headstock and its good for bashing with too! it dual-classes as an axekind weapon too, haha... i converted it from a regular old classic rickenbacker myself!

You hold up the LITTLE BUSTER for his perusal. He looks on with what feels like an air of appraisal, as if inspecting your craftsmanship. You stay quiet for a long moment to just let him see, before he seems satisfied. A glint of approval, what might be interpreted as a smile behind your grandfather's dense moustache. He's never been good at praise, but you can tell he's proud.

haha, thank you for coming out and watching, grampa. it means a lot to get to show you that, and all this too! do you like how the gardenship looks? ive been up to my eyebrows in dirt making it all cute! look over there, you can see rip van maple, just growing and growing! technically its only a few years old but the growth acceleration puts it at like three hundred!

You spend the next hour or so pointing out nearby points of interest, talking about the care and maintenance and upkeep of your garden, your robots, even the dogs. As if conjured by the utterance of his name, Becquerel appears, curling up at his master's feet like he's prone to. You scratch between your direwolf sized hound's ears and sit down against him, still quietly talking to grandpa.

so how has work been going in there, grandpa? oh, right i know, business trade secrets, cant discuss them! still i hope you are not working too hard in there. you always seem so lost in thought... maybe looking out the window once in a while instead of into the fireplace would give a fresh perspective! shhh i know it is the favorite spot but still! you might even see me running around from in there, haha...

You sigh, looking up at the imposing figure above you. The wind rustles his mustache, and he stalwartly gazes off into the middle difference. Maybe, he seems to think. Maybe he'll try it out. You can tell he must be getting tired though, time to get back to work. You lightly grasp his shirt hem, and Bec returns all three of you to the study. This time his perch does seem to be near the window, overlooking the grape vines and the little bench you built for Rose, just offset from the pane to spare himself the excess light and the ominous silhouette in the window. You pull a little box from your sylladex, a gift for your beloved Grandpa. You can tell he's too lost in thought to pluck at all the lavish ribbons and paper you've wrapped it in, so you unbox it for him. Within he finds a few Artifacts - the skull of a monster that you put onto his mantlepiece immediately; a bottle of his theoretically favourite Cognac, which you put on a shelf next to a few similar bottles of brown alcohol. Clink. And last but not least, a loud Hawaiian shirt with a computer woven into the threads. It's bright, it's garish, it's absolutely nobody's style. You set this neatly folded on his desk, where he can deal with it at his leisure.

okay grandpa, i know you gotta work... thank you for coming out with me today! it was nice to spend time with you... ill come visit again soon, okay? i love you soooooo much grandpa!! happy fathers and grandfathers day!!

You hesitate, then scurry over and hug the old man, clinging tight to his sturdy frame. A single tear runs down your cheek and musses his khaki attire, but it's only a small watermark. You gaze up at the lofty gentleman, ears angled backwards for a moment, wishing he'd return your affection now and then. But it's alright. It's tough for old men full of machismo to show their love. You know he cares from the wistful look in his eyes. You hold onto his hand for a moment, squeezing gently, then depart. As you go, you hear the soft chime of a wardrobifier, perhaps triggered by the teardrop. You look back, and he's wearing the shirt you got him. With a soft smile you slip from his study and close the door behind you, murmuring one more time -

happy fathers day, to a wonderful grampa...