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 Posted: Wed Feb 08, 2006 8:01 pm
Gibbous //Under Construction. The following files are collected by the Nexus Corporation.
Information is provided and upkept by Johnathon Eisley.
Subject is Dr. Toshihiko Millay, who consented to monitoring on the signing of his contract to the Nexus Corporation. All information contained within is private, and not for public or general use.
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Posted: Wed Feb 08, 2006 8:04 pm
Directory. Quote:
(.) ...Heading
(.) ...Directory
(.) ...Subject: Zacanthoides Typicalis
(.) ...Subject: Dr. Toshihiko Millay
(.) ...Contacts
(.) ...Growth and Development
(.) ...Millay Household Schematics
(.) ...Projects (Unauthorized)
(.) ...Projects (Authorized)
(.) ...
(.) ...
(.) ...
(.) ...
(.) ...
(.) ...
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Posted: Wed Feb 08, 2006 8:05 pm
Gibbous.  Quote:
Name: Gibbous
Gender: ?
Age: Egg
Height: Egg
Weight: Egg
Status: Egg
Occupation: Egg
Species: Zacanthoides typicalis
Stage: Egg
Language: ?
Temperment: ?
Guardian: Toshihiko
Likes: ?
Dislikes: ?
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Posted: Wed Feb 08, 2006 8:08 pm
Toshihiko.  Quote:
Name: Dr. Toshihiko Millay
Gender: Male
Age: 34
Height: 5'4
Weight: 110
Status: Divorced
Occupation: Electrical Engineer (Optics)
Likes: Solving problems, irritating his neighbors, irritating his boss.
Dislikes: Everything else.
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Posted: Wed Feb 08, 2006 8:09 pm
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Posted: Wed Feb 08, 2006 8:10 pm
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Posted: Wed Feb 08, 2006 8:11 pm
Millay Household Schematics.
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Posted: Wed Feb 08, 2006 8:14 pm
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Posted: Wed Feb 08, 2006 8:15 pm
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Posted: Wed Feb 08, 2006 8:18 pm
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Posted: Wed Feb 08, 2006 8:21 pm
Nobody expects the SPANISH INQUISITION!
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Posted: Wed Feb 08, 2006 8:22 pm
Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines.
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Posted: Wed Feb 08, 2006 8:25 pm
I'd rather shove ice picks in my toenails and swoop around screaming, "Look, ma! I'm a RAPTOR!"
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Posted: Wed Feb 08, 2006 8:27 pm
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Posted: Wed Feb 08, 2006 8:28 pm
OOC. Occasional narrative accounts outside of Nexus's files.Quote: Expensive Ties.
Toshihiko flashed his badge at the man in the rickety guardhouse. The stiff, waspish gate responded with a labored toss, body forking into a cloud. The gate didn't provide any real security. Nexus accomplished that differently. Toshihiko supposed the gate was there to ward off curious, silly-minded folks, but half-suspected it was there to irritate him.
It was stupid. One day, he was going to drive around the other side of the gatehouse. Just spin the wheel and soak in the satisfaction of the guard's puckered face, right past the hateful yellow bar. The most he would get was one of Eisley's little notes.
He could summarize the three staples:
To Dr. Millay-
Politely, don't do this or I'll make insignificant threats I won't carry out.
To Dr. Millay-
I humbly request that you stop committing such-and-such social faux pas, as it is upsetting my delicate sense of propriety.
To Dr. Millay-
Please respond before I throw a tantrum.
�September 17th! Happy Birthday, Toshihiko!� his dashboard reminded him in bleak, digital lettering. He tugged into a parking place before shutting down the car. The message had been scrolling above the directional software, interspersed with helpful suggestions like, �Turn right, 1 mile!� His dashboard was very exclamatory. He kept the vocal accompaniment off with good reason.
He tried an inventory of his accomplishments for the year.
In the world of science, 17 new patents. He had pulled one of Nexus's holographic projects out of a dreary slump, and rejuvenated interest in a previously useless medium. A good year. A busy year. He looked backwards with satisfaction.
In his personal life, he had managed to secure a divorce. Out of inattention, Abigail assured him, but he had other suspicions: Abigail was too pretty. He looked backwards with uneasiness.
He preferred to look ahead to the enormous amount of work waiting for him.
Past the rotating titanium doors, past the clearances and offices.
�Hello, hello. Looking lovely today, Doris. Why, your hair looks almost exactly like the ficus! Alberto, you do have those preliminaries in, don't you? Splendid! Any later and they would have thrown us in jail instead of just cutting funding. Always on top of things. Speaking of which: Sadie, I'm sure Eisley has sent you a little note regarding office dating policies? It's not that I support his usual tyranny, but when said date takes place inside the lab, we all prefer you take the highlights elsewhere. Am I being too subtle? I thought not. You have a good day.�
Other than a satisfying blush from Sadie, Toshihiko didn't glean too many negative reactions: Just a flat, accustomed tolerance. He could terrorize new employees for only a small amount of time before someone pulled them aside and gently assured them that's just the way the poor, eccentric Dr. Millay talked, and that he didn't mean anything by it.
Toshihiko preferred neighbors to coworkers.
Finally reaching his office, Toshihiko had just secured the day's schedule when a smartly-dressed young fellow knocked amiably on the open door. He had a thin, flat black box in one hand. �Dr. Millay? Mr. Eisley wanted me to give this to you.�
Toshihiko regarded the kid as though he had just spoken Greek.
�He what?�
�Wanted me to give this to you. I'll...err...just leave it on your desk, then.� The fellow skittered away in quick, long strides.
Toshihiko stared at the package in suspicion, then rushed to the lid, certain Eisley would somehow spoil the gesture. He was eager to destroy an onslaught of something akin to appreciation. The feeling had settled, fat and warm, over the section of his stomach where he normally stored his distaste. He couldn't be doing something thoughtful! Not Eisley! There was bound to be something dead or poisonous in the box.
Instead, there was a lovely silk tie.
Toshihiko's mild confusion rose to panic. And, besides the panic, gratitude. He hadn't expected anything from Abigail (not expected, but hoped), and although he would have been content to let today slip by unnoticed... At least, he thought he would have been content. The amount of gratitude he felt over a tie said otherwise. His first birthday as a divorced man. A tie couldn't possibly compensate for that. And-who was he trying to convince? It was a nice tie. Perhaps Eisley-Eisley! What was he supposed to do now? He couldn't completely ignore the gift, and it was too late to be on good terms with him now.
On that note, Toshihiko didn't want to be on good terms with him.
What did Eisley think he was doing?
Trying to put Toshihiko in an awkward position via kindness? Not Eisley's style. He was a jerk, end point. Toshihiko groused into his desk, bounding back and forth between the conflicting thoughts.
He settled on gratitude.
If Eisley had called a cease-fire...finally decided to be a decent fellow...well, then, Toshihiko wasn't going to be the villain. The whole affair was awkward...but not unwelcome, Toshihiko decided. He dredged up the single positive thing about Eisley he would admit to: Eisley was the one man he trusted. Hated, but trusted. And he supposed, now that he was looking for compliments, Eisley was good at management (if obnoxious and controlling).
Toshihiko was sure he could find other positive traits, given some time.
A little more time than today, and possibly all of next month.
He picked up the tie. The Italian silk was finely woven, clean, without a patch of roughness or abrasion. An expensive tie. A red tie, complementing Toshihiko's wild hair and occasionally matching face.
There was a note.
To Dr. Millay-
You have continued to ignore my notifications on the changes in office policy regarding formal dress. As an employee and ambassador for the Nexus Corporation, you have an obligation to portray an appropriate degree of professionalism. Since our number of investors has persisted in inclining exponentially, making their visitations more frequent, it becomes increasingly important that every member of our staff, no matter how insignificant, present themselves with equal care and consideration.
If you are not wearing this tie tomorrow, you will not be allowed into the plant.
And there it was. Toshihiko literally flushed, ashamed of any good thoughts he'd sent towards Eisley a few moments prior. Familiar, comfortable spite splashed back into his stomach. Insignificant indeed. His instincts hadn't failed him: Eisley remained irreconcilable.
He scanned the note again, to make sure there was no mention of his birthday.
Well, however nice the tie was...pah, nice, it looked cheap, now that he could see it clearly. It was probably only imitation silk, in spite of the tag. He was getting off track. He wasn't going to wear it. As if Eisley would really keep Toshihiko's valuable (Insignificant, who was Eisley kidding?) input out of multi-million dollar projects for violation of a dress code.
Toshihiko left his office, taking a quick look into the hallway. Really, everyone couldn't be wearing ties. He was being victimized.
They were all wearing ties. Well, all the men were. And one woman, whose name he couldn't remember for the moment, but she was very flat-chested and had the rattiest hair imaginable. He'd told her so on two occasions.
Toshihiko swore mildly and returned to his desk, soaking in deep-rooted loathing. Mostly for Eisley, but a little for himself and the brief entertainment of anything but hate for his employer.
-
He didn't receive any other packages that day, and after work he lingered half-heartedly by his home phone. He kept busy, making up excuses and assuring himself he wasn't waiting for a call from Abigail. This was fortunate, because Abigail didn't call.
He skipped dinner, occupied with an equation that someone else in the department was using to interpret lidar readings.
The tie remained on top of the refrigerator, where Arpeggio couldn't reach it.
-
�What do you mean, you can't let me in? Paul, I come through here every day. You know who I am.�
Paul Whines shrugged his shoulders into a single lump. His head and neck merged into a wad of gum. �Don' keel the messenger. Hash it out with Mr. Ayslee.�
�You can't be serious.�
Paul shrugged again.
�Alright. Alright, you have a phone in that little box. Get him on the phone for me.�
Paul looked uneasy. �He said he ain' takin' any cawls.�
Toshihiko seethed, then pulled up Eisley's number on his dashboard. The car began to hum pleasurably, singing out a series of rings. He drummed his fingers on the wheel. The hum continued, then defaulted to a message system that Toshihiko abused with an amazing amount of passion. Arms flailed and ears reddened as he assaulted the hapless speaker phone.
Paul looked on with increasing nervousness. �Yuh got cars in back a' yuh, Dr. M.�
Toshihiko drove around the guardhouse, and didn't get any farther than the rotating iron doors.
-
He returned several hours later wearing the silk tie, a surprisingly placid smile gracing his chin.
Paul let him in this time, relieved to see that Dr. Millay was in a better mood.
Eisley stopped by Toshihiko's office later that day, and received nothing but courtesy and a note that simply read,
Jonathon-
Thank you for the birthday gift.
-
The tie collected a stubborn chemical stain within the first couple of days. The next week it caught fire, and the next day it smelled so terrible that Toshihiko could only apologetically explain his cat had gotten a hold of it. In fact, whenever an accident happened, Toshihiko's tie tended to attract the worst of it, and after three months the tie was infamous.
Toshihiko insisted on wearing the thing everywhere, and gushingly related how it had been his only present that year: A tie of that caliber and emotional value was irreplaceable! He even began wearing the tie at home, where it went through just as much strife as at the office. Miraculously, the tie was never destroyed. After six months the accidents ceased altogether, and the tie only had two enemies: Time and Eisley.
Pitiful was a good word for the red scrap of material. Charred, abused, stained, worn. It was stiff from the stains and limp from misuse.
Worse, he wore it to board meetings. The horrific tie lay across Toshihiko's neck and chest like an open wound. Eisley couldn't have been more mortified.
Toshihiko couldn't have been more delighted. On reflection, it was the best birthday gift he had ever received.
-
The next year there was another long, flat black box on his desk. The note was laconic.
Dr. Millay-
Take better care of this one.
Toshihiko intended to do nothing of the sort. Quote: Introduction.
�Arpeggio! Arpeggio, you blasted nuisance! I'm going to use your guts for a violin!�
Flapping across stacks of newspapers, half a bicycle, and an entire plastic skeleton, a red-faced man blustered around in awkward circles. His garage, oily and bitter with cat urine, was also partially on fire.
Wheezing unhappily, Toshihiko tugged and tore through another pile of garbage.
�'What happened?' Eisley will ask! Well...no, he won't ask, that rat, he'll tear me open right then. ...And when the police recover my mangled body, they'll use YOUR guts to sew me back up again! A violin's too good for you! You mangy, irritable...�
A phone yelped in the distance.
The madman's tirade quavered, rewarded by a second electronic squeal.
The fire offered an impatient wriggle, and the man hesitated before cannoning towards the door. He was back in the garage in a matter of moments, phone propped against his shoulder. He struggled with the chord, which he'd managed to catch on a chair. It was less surprising that he had gotten it caught and more surprising that anyone still owned phones with chords.
Satisfied that he had enough slack to continue the conversation, remedy the fire, and carry out revenge, he preceded to try all three at once.
�Yes, yes, of course, it's always pleasant to hear from you. No, it's only a small fire.�
Triumphant, he rose with a fistful of orange. More feral than domesticated, Arpeggio made a rattling noise with its throat and spat out a labored yowl. He shook the cat in response, still searching for a Class D fire extinguisher.
�Mad Scientist? Nonsense. I'm an engineer.� He answered civilly. �Oh, no, I don't think it's one of those whatsits. Honestly, I believe I just picked up some Horseshoe Crab eggs. Did you know that the Horseshoe crab has at least five- Well, no, I just thought it was interesting. Of course not. Actually, I-Ah-HAH!�
He spun the red canister in his free hand with deft bouncing motions, pinpointing the starred �D� with satisfaction.
The whatsit bubbled pensively from its overturned refrigerator.
�Oh, I've just found the fire extinguisher. I keep several around, of course, but I'm such a mess that- Only a Horseshoe Crab, I'm sure. If I had studied any electrophysiology, I might be tempted to dissect its eyes. They've got some unique qualities that make them ideal for-Right. Yes, sorry, I do tend to prattle on-�
The extinguisher hiccuped and heaved a fine powder over the burning metal, building into a gritty crust.
Dr. Toshihiko Millay stood, momentarily noble, frozen in the lull of extinguished havoc. His hair, the same color as his tomato-face, shot above his skull in frenzied spider legs. Thick, circular glasses perched on the edge of a small flushed nose and above a pronounced overbite. His mouth was temporarily puckered into a scowl. He wore a crumpled white suit patched with mustard and oil stains, and a limp red tie swung around his neck. Short and limber, he was plagued by a combination of energy, passion, and distraction.
He stirred, nodding back into the phone. �Alright. Well, I appreciate your concern. Anytime. Goodbye, Grace.� His trip inside was less hurried, and on his return he gave his make-shift aquarium a conspiratorial wink. �My neighbors really never liked me anyway. I think I've managed to single-handedly lower property values. You're getting to be a fairly popular young lady? Gentleman? What have you, Gibbous. I used to only get calls when a section of my house had exploded.� A section of his house had just exploded, but there was no one to correct him.
-
The fat man appeared on his doorstep three days later.
Toshihiko was hoping his visitor was Grace, since nothing delighted him more than seeing her flustered. Although the girth was right, the gender and lack of hairspray (or hair at all, really) spoiled things.
He answered the door reluctantly.
The two shared a blank silence. Toshihiko was silent because he was indignant about having to open the door. The fat man was silent because smoke was pouring past Toshihiko's shoulders.
�Is this a bad time?�
�I was working.�
The fat man coughed, looking at the smoke meaningfully. �I see. What on, exactly?�
�Optics.� After receiving the usual look of polite disinterest, Toshihiko clarified. �Lasers.� He continued flatly, �But I can't elaborate much further. I work for a government facility and the specific nature of my projects is classified.� The man looked a little put off by the statement. Toshihiko decided he might enjoy the visit after all. �Is there anything I can help you with?�
The fat man waved a hand in front of his face, warding off the smoke. His arm jiggled. �I'll just need a moment of your time. I'm from The Institute.�
Toshihiko waited for him to finish.
The fat man, who had finished, waited to be invited in.
�The Institute of what?� Toshihiko asked, finally.
�The Whittington Institute.� He replied irritably, as if there was only one Institute.
�I've already gotten one of your fliers.� Toshihiko brightly retrieved a nuclear yellow piece of paper from a coffee table. It had remained on the table for a total of three weeks. The front of the flier read,
. What are Cambrians?
. Why are Cambrians dangerous?
. What effect does The Abyss have on me?
. How much do I really know about The Whittington Institute?
. How do I identify a Cambrian?
. What can I do to help?
It obviously wasn't a flier from the Institute. It wasn't even a flier. But Toshihiko was not a man of mundane details.
There was another healthy round of silence as the pair contemplated the pamphlet.
Toshihiko spoke first. �Yes, well, give my best wishes to The Institute. I feel much safer now that you've visited. Really, thank you for your time. Come again, and warn me next time! I'm sure if I had a wife she'd have dinner ready for you, but as it is I could manage to be out for dinner instead. Auf Wiedersehen.�
�I think you misunderstand our intentions, Dr. Millay. The Whittington Institute is committed to the preservation and understanding of the Cambrians. The organization that distributed that pamphlet is known as The Children...I'm afraid they're somewhat militaristic in their-�
�I apologize. What I meant to say was that I fully support the Cambrian cause, and wish you luck in defeating these Children fellows. They sound terrifying. Goodbye, Mr. ..Sir.�
�Dr. Millay,� The fat man plowed on calmly, �I would like to see the creature in your garage.�
There was a beat. Toshihiko's expression was carefully flat.
�Oh. Oh, honestly. Is that what this is all about? You're not from any Institute. You can tell Eisley that I am working very diligently on his project, and that my little pet projects aren't distracting me in the least bit. I've always liked to keep more than one thing going, he knows that. They way he checks up on me is more like a schoolboy with a crush than an employer: You can tell the uptight busybody I said that, too. Well, if you can fit in the doorway, get inside. Don't look so appalled.� � Toshihiko gently stood aside, finally unblocking the doorway.
The fat man didn't protest Toshihiko's deduction, and to Toshihiko's disappointment, did fit though the doorway.
�The garage is down the stairs, the white door to your left. Don't touch anything. I'll be with you in a moment.�
The fat man descended the stairs in heavy, bobbing motions. Toshihiko watched him go with growing distaste, then fetched a phone.
The fat man was immediately assaulted by the smell of urine and burnt metal. The combination was sharp enough for him to taste it, thick, heavy. He buried his nose in his wrist. The garage was large, the door swung shut. He could see a champagne colored hovercraft outside, image marred by streaked windows. Clothes, trash, parts, tools. A refrigerator lay on its back, unplugged. The door was shut. He stepped over a litterbox and tried to concentrate on something besides the smell.
�What do you mean by sending someone here on a Saturday?� Toshihiko raved. �I don't even know this fellow. If you'd swung by yourself, at least-what?� Toshihiko paced back and forth in the kitchen, legs jolting into the floor like piledrivers. �No. No, he said he was from the Whittington Institute, but he was being terribly shifty about it. I assumed that you-Yes. Right. I don't know, I think I sent him to the garage.�
The fat man kicked over a box, hands rooting through cluttered shelves. He went through efficiently, methodically, searching for likely containers. He ignored the wired, squatting device in the garage's center. He rattled drawers and assaulted a small closet, always moving clockwise. The door to the house moaned open.
Toshihiko cleared his throat, phone still in hand. �Excuse me.�
The fat man turned lazily.
�Eisley didn't send you.� Toshihiko waved the phone. �...You really are from the Institute.�
The fat man returned the comment with a dry smile.
Toshihiko looked hesitant, then finally divulged, �I was keeping it in that refrigerator, but had to move it to my upstairs bathroom a day ago. I very much doubt it's one of those Creatures your organization gets so excited about. Bluntly, I'm relatively sure it's a horseshoe crab. But you can take a look yourself. If it's one of those things, you can have it. I'm surprised my cat hasn't eaten it already.�
The fat man was more than happy to leave the garage.
-
�Yes, yes. I hope you're happy. I have him locked in my upstairs bathroom. There's a window, but I think he's too fat to get out of it. I would name the fall out of said window as additional assurance, but the man would bounce. What? Oh, the police. Well, he was breaking and entering! I'll break a window myself. Gave me a nasty bruise along my forehead, the madman! Oh, don't worry, I collected it this morning. I'm alright. ...He sounded American, but he could be from anywhere. And you're sure it's a competitive company? Well... Ah, it's...well. Eisley, I think he might have actually had something to do with that Institute place. I've...no, I'm not in trouble. No. No. I found these eggs recently, and...No. Oh, for goodness sake. I've been telling everyone it's a horseshoe crab, but the head's all wrong, and it's been growing much too fast. It was interesting! This is not about my neighbors. ...Maybe it is a little. A man's entitled to a few pleasures in life. Much more serious? Eisley, this isn't...right. Fine. If it would make you feel better. I'll see you in a little while. Okay. Yes. Ciao.�
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