"Oh, that would be me!" As soon as his name is called, Marco stands up from his desk, hands on some documents he seemed to be sorting just moments ago - he halts and straightens them up into two distinct piles before turning his attention to the visitor again. "And you're, uh... Ah! Gosalyn's father, aren't you?"
His smile is perfectly courteous, and despite clearly having been in the middle of something, his desk only looks a little messy. Maybe that inspires confidence, if the mechanical hand he's holding out for Drake to shake - or the very quiet mumbling about Duck Names - does not.
"That's me," he smiles, shaking his hand, trying carefully not to get any fur caught in the mechanical joints. He catches that mumbling, but he's prone to doing a lot of that himself, so he lets it slide. He tends to take talking to one's self as a sign of genius.
"I ... was hoping you might have another one of those laptops. Someone has hidden mine, quite possibly under something very heavy. Minotaur kids. Gotta love 'em."
"Oh. I'm... afraid you have the wrong labs for that, actually." Marco laughs, half-apologetic, half-seemingly-nervous about something that is by no means his fault. "We don't distribute laptops. I'd lend you mine, but I haven't used it in years, to be honest..."
Again, he trails off into a mumble. Before it occurs to him that he may have to explain how it is possible for him to not have used a laptop in years, or how that would prevent him from lending it, a different thought comes to him:
"Gosalyn is very lively, isn't she? How has she been doing?"
"Our word for it has always been spirited," he says with a knowing grin. "She's ... okay. She's been telling me about everything that happened to her, showing me things. I get the feeling I showed up just in the nick of time. Poor kiddo..."
He sighs, genuinely feeling for his daughter and all she's had to weather since her arrival. Then he rallies back to the matter at hand. "But that's no excuse to hide a man's laptop, is it? I mean ... is it? I only came here because you were the only person I thought of who might know where I could get one. It's okay if you don't have one here, I guess."
Marco won't confirm or deny it, but he does get the feeling Gosalyn hadn't been doing so well. It's... frankly a relief that her father is here for her now, and he sighs. But -
"Right, a laptop. You see, despite the name, this is more of a workshop. It would be lovely if we had our own laptops to distribute one day," and Marco has a genuine glimmer in his eye as he says it, as if the mere idea were enough to perk him up, "but if you're looking for a replacement, you actually want Liewen Labs."
"Oh. Well, uh, that's not a problem, I guess. Good to have a place to ..." Oh god, being social. Why did he decide this was a good idea? Right. Because he needed his tech. Tech made the social stuff more tolerable. " ... work on ... stuff..."
He cleared his throat. "Sorry to bother you, then, I hope I didn't take you away from anything that might, um, I dunno, explode. Worked with a lady once who was always making things explode, heh heh - had banana cream pie in my clothes for a week ..."
The banana cream pie thing very nearly makes him lose his train of thought, and for a moment he's torn between asking what happened and voicing the idea that you know how it is with pie - and for the record, he's not entirely sure where that came from - before he remembers what he actually wanted to say.
"Are you going to need directions? Ah, actually, if there's anything else I can do while you're here..."
The offer of help brings a knee-jerk reaction old as time. "What? No, nooo, I'm fine, I --"
And then he remembers the long hours Gosalyn spent drilling it into his head that this isn't St. Canard. It's even more dangerous here. They kill humans here ... she hasn't exactly gotten around to breaking the news about the eating part yet, but it's still bad news.
Drake coughs, then flashes Marco a sheepish smile as he switches tracks. "Actually, uh. Directions would, uh ... they'd be great, thanks. Heh."
Marco isn't sure if this man is the sort to habitually refuse help or if there's something particularly stressful about the current situation, but... either way, he supposes the reassurance is probably appreciated.
"It's a big city, the biggest in the peninsula. I don't even know the entire place, and I've been here for years."
Anyway, directions!
"So, if you leave McGucket Labs and turn right..."
He wants to say he's used to big cities, he came from a big city, and that city was in his blood and in his heart and soul and he ate, slept, breathed it and now it's gone and there's a St. Canard-shaped abyss in his mind and everything is new and unfamiliar and he doesn't know who he is without that city aside from, blessedly, Gosalyn's Father. But that's a lot to unload on a near-stranger, even if that stranger knows Gos.
He blows out a long, slow sign and listens as intently as he can to the directions.
"Okay, I think I got it." Only because, strangely, it's the same as the cheat code for infinite lives in Whiffle Boy: Son of Whiffle. But hey, any mnemonic device that works.
"Thanks," he says, feeling a bit lame having needed help, but grateful for it anyway, and awkward for not really being good at this whole thing. "I ... 'preciate it."
Marco's question is perfectly earnest, is the thing. It's plain to see, despite awkward mannerisms like, say, the deliberate way he pulls his mouth into a smile. When Marco offers help, he means it.
Whether that's always healthy or not is a wholly different story, but that doesn't matter right now.
He was about to comment further on the game idea - he was hoping that maybe he could draw up some of the sprites for Wiffle Boy and have them recreate something similar for her, so she could have a piece of home - but then Marco's compliment drew him up short, stammering and wide-eyed as a blush crept in, mercifully hidden by his new fur.
In the years he'd been raising Gosalyn, she and Launchpad had been the only ones who had ever considered him a good father. Teachers, principals, neighbors, classmates' parents ... they had all impressed the importance of being The Perfect Parent, someone who raised a Little Lady, and while Drake eventually tended to come around to the fact that as long as Gosalyn was happy and healthy, the rest was their own business ... sometimes all that pressure and judgement stung and hit deep. It was a very rare thing to get such a compliment, and he wasn't sure how to respond.
"I - uh." He rubbed at the back of his neck, and realized that the lab did a very good job of keeping its floor clean. "I don't know about that. She's been here without me for so long..."
"Well, that's not your fault." Marco's expression shifts again; it isn't hostile, exactly, and certainly not to Drake, but the smile is gone. If anything, the look on his face is oddly flat. "The Fog God took Gosalyn on a whim. Then, months later, she decided to take you. In fact -"
Marco lifts a finger.
"If I were to guess, from your perspective, Gosalyn was never missing at all, was she?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
His smile is perfectly courteous, and despite clearly having been in the middle of something, his desk only looks a little messy. Maybe that inspires confidence, if the mechanical hand he's holding out for Drake to shake - or the very quiet mumbling about Duck Names - does not.
"How may I help you?"
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"I ... was hoping you might have another one of those laptops. Someone has hidden mine, quite possibly under something very heavy. Minotaur kids. Gotta love 'em."
no subject
Again, he trails off into a mumble. Before it occurs to him that he may have to explain how it is possible for him to not have used a laptop in years, or how that would prevent him from lending it, a different thought comes to him:
"Gosalyn is very lively, isn't she? How has she been doing?"
no subject
He sighs, genuinely feeling for his daughter and all she's had to weather since her arrival. Then he rallies back to the matter at hand. "But that's no excuse to hide a man's laptop, is it? I mean ... is it? I only came here because you were the only person I thought of who might know where I could get one. It's okay if you don't have one here, I guess."
no subject
"Right, a laptop. You see, despite the name, this is more of a workshop. It would be lovely if we had our own laptops to distribute one day," and Marco has a genuine glimmer in his eye as he says it, as if the mere idea were enough to perk him up, "but if you're looking for a replacement, you actually want Liewen Labs."
no subject
He cleared his throat. "Sorry to bother you, then, I hope I didn't take you away from anything that might, um, I dunno, explode. Worked with a lady once who was always making things explode, heh heh - had banana cream pie in my clothes for a week ..."
no subject
The banana cream pie thing very nearly makes him lose his train of thought, and for a moment he's torn between asking what happened and voicing the idea that you know how it is with pie - and for the record, he's not entirely sure where that came from - before he remembers what he actually wanted to say.
"Are you going to need directions? Ah, actually, if there's anything else I can do while you're here..."
no subject
And then he remembers the long hours Gosalyn spent drilling it into his head that this isn't St. Canard. It's even more dangerous here. They kill humans here ... she hasn't exactly gotten around to breaking the news about the eating part yet, but it's still bad news.
Drake coughs, then flashes Marco a sheepish smile as he switches tracks. "Actually, uh. Directions would, uh ... they'd be great, thanks. Heh."
no subject
Marco isn't sure if this man is the sort to habitually refuse help or if there's something particularly stressful about the current situation, but... either way, he supposes the reassurance is probably appreciated.
"It's a big city, the biggest in the peninsula. I don't even know the entire place, and I've been here for years."
Anyway, directions!
"So, if you leave McGucket Labs and turn right..."
no subject
He blows out a long, slow sign and listens as intently as he can to the directions.
"Okay, I think I got it." Only because, strangely, it's the same as the cheat code for infinite lives in Whiffle Boy: Son of Whiffle. But hey, any mnemonic device that works.
"Thanks," he says, feeling a bit lame having needed help, but grateful for it anyway, and awkward for not really being good at this whole thing. "I ... 'preciate it."
no subject
Marco's question is perfectly earnest, is the thing. It's plain to see, despite awkward mannerisms like, say, the deliberate way he pulls his mouth into a smile. When Marco offers help, he means it.
Whether that's always healthy or not is a wholly different story, but that doesn't matter right now.
no subject
"If we're still here come a certain little girl's birthday, though, I might ask for your help trying to make some kind of hand-held game..."
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Such a thoughtful gesture... It makes Marco's smile relax.
"You're a good father."
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In the years he'd been raising Gosalyn, she and Launchpad had been the only ones who had ever considered him a good father. Teachers, principals, neighbors, classmates' parents ... they had all impressed the importance of being The Perfect Parent, someone who raised a Little Lady, and while Drake eventually tended to come around to the fact that as long as Gosalyn was happy and healthy, the rest was their own business ... sometimes all that pressure and judgement stung and hit deep. It was a very rare thing to get such a compliment, and he wasn't sure how to respond.
"I - uh." He rubbed at the back of his neck, and realized that the lab did a very good job of keeping its floor clean. "I don't know about that. She's been here without me for so long..."
no subject
Marco lifts a finger.
"If I were to guess, from your perspective, Gosalyn was never missing at all, was she?"