Dorian Kasen and Tilly Gelson's Duplex Chapter One

Gelson's side       ||                                     Kasen's side




Any neighbor who pays enough attention to catch the signs of Tilly Gelson's comings and goings would know that she was home by the sight of her beat-up 1998 Cadillac in the driveway leading up to her garage. That is, if the sound of breaking ceramic from her side of the backyard was not evidence enough. The woman in question was currently holding a wooden baseball bat in a "butter-churn" position as she brought it down to smash plates inside a large rubbermaid container, only pausing to remove another plate from the cardboard box next to her and place it in said container to meet its fate.

"Performance art!" a voice cut through the air in the quiet pause between plate destruction. On the neighboring porch Dorian stuck out his lower lip consideringly for half a moment before nodding. "I like it. Nice change of pace for you, Miss Tilly," he commented and crossed his arms on the railing, leaning on them as he offered her a bright smile. "Are you headed to the docks today?" Time had taught the biologist that his neighbor had little interest in his presence, let alone his small talk, but Dorian found he enjoyed his neighbor's "company", if one could call it that, despite her usual less than cheery attitude. He would hold one sided conversations if need be, just seeing her near somehow made him feel less lonely. At least Tilly seemed to tolerate that much from him regularly, and so time found them to be neighbors longer than any other person occupant of his residence before him: 1 year as of the first of the month.

"Paisley-cide," Tilly corrected in her usual monotone drawl, holding up one plate to show its garishly-colored pattern. She then dropped the plate on top of the other already in the bin and brought the bat down on them twice, taking the time to mull over his question before answering: One of those commercial fishing boats called with a busted winch last night, so... "Yep." With that remark, she continued her methodic smashing at a mechanical pace, planning to finish the entire box of dishes before heading to work.

Dorian made a thoughtful sort of humming noise, knowing she wouldn't acknowledge it, and continued to watch her for a full minute before he spoke again. "If you are headed there soon, will today be different?" he inquired conversationally. "Will you commute with me, or take your car again?" He had asked the question a hundred times, he supposed, by now. Received a hundred no's. The question, though it was reworded occasionally, had long since taken on the tone of bidding someone farewell than an actual desire. Nevertheless, he gave Tilly another smile, an action that he had made a million times for a million people, and yet still somehow managed to make it seem this one was just for her, just as he did every morning before Tilly brushed him off and he headed out to work. The tone of her reply would change from time to time, but no matter how bland or how harsh, he always waited for his farewell before he ever left.

Earlier in their association, Tilly might have scoffed at Dorian's insistence at asking the same question so often when the answer never changed. However, the younger man had proven to be an unobtrusive neighbor--a rare thing to find nowadays, it seems--so she could allow this eccentricity to pass unchallenged. But that does not mean she ever intended ride in the same car as anyone but a trained EMT providing her with emergency defibrillation. "I can drive myself." Tilly replied absently, not even looking up from her demolition.

Dorian didn't reply this time, not verbally anyway. Instead he held his smile in place, gave her an understanding little nod and a brief wave as he straightened from the railing and turned to pass through his home again. "Have a good day, Ms Tilly!" he called over his shoulder before closing the door. A minute later, the engine of his bike revved a couple of times, idled as he eased out of the driveway, then intensified as he sped up, and quieted as he headed down to the marina. BotO the Marina

Tilly never looked up or responded to Dorian's farewell, instead continuing her self-assigned task with the goal of finishing as quickly and efficiently as possible--much like the other self-assigned tasks she had given herself over the years--until finally picking up the now-empty cardboard box in the hand not containing a baseball bat and entering her garage-turned-woodshop. After setting the bat beside the door and flattening the box to fit in her trash can, Tilly went back out to bring in the rubbermaid bin of shattered ceramics and set it beside the tablesaw for safe-keeping until she was ready to use them. She then locked her back door and--deciding that she had not exerted herself enough to undo her morning shower--ran her fingers through her hair briefly before pulling her keys and garage-door-opener keychain out of her pocket and left her house all locked up, on her way to BotO The Marina.

Arriving back home about mid-to-late afternoon, Tilly parked her car in the driveway and quickly pressed the garage-door-opener on her keychain before walking into her house with the prized fries and cake and closing the garage door behind her. She would have just cooked at home like she usually did, but she felt like eating something sweet and the woman avoided baking like the plague. Cooking on a stovetop gave her something to keep her hands busy--stirring, flipping, chopping, seasoning--but baking was just waiting. She could wait for pottery in the kiln--it could take weeks, giving her the time to pursue another project--but a few minutes to bake? If she worked on anything else, she could risk burning the house down! It just was not worth it: not when Sophie's made the best carrot cake, anyways.




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