I'm finally starting this project that's been bouncing around my head for a while. Inspired by two things:
-obviously, the One Year Older album of Homestuck-related music by Erik Scheele. You can listen to the songs on bandcamp, or Youtube; each one focuses on a different scene in John Egbert's life. (I'll admit, I have a bit of a cheat; when you buy the album, it comes with this little commentary-thing where Scheele talks about what he was going for with each song.) They're awesome. Maybe it goes without saying, but you could totally listen to each song as you're reading the story. If you want. No pressure. Be yourself.
-the Obscura series, written by ThinkingCapsLock, which focuses mainly on Dave Strider. It's literally hundreds of oneshots, showing different aspects of his life, and it's amazing. You should read it right now, because it's way better than whatever this is gonna be.
So no clever chapter names for this one. Each chapter will be its own song; most will be much longer than this one. Hope you like it!
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Dad: Be Sentimental
It can hardly be called morning, really. The eastern sky is barely beginning to show signs of dawn, and the town itself is still shrouded in mid-April fog and darkness.
Rows and rows of nearly identical houses stretch out, filling the landscape with white shutters and black shingles. To the car ambling through the neighborhood, the view seems to blur into a kaleidoscope of driveways, intersections, corners, lawns, doors, windows-
It would be easy to get lost. But the driver knows exactly where he's going.
The car slows, turning into one of the countless driveways. A tire swing gently bobs back and forth in the wind, while the green, unnatural smiling face on a children's pogo ride leers out at the streets.
The vehicle stops. A man steps out, a wide-brimmed hat obscuring the upper portion of his face. Pipe in hand, he slowly walks to the front door.
The inside of the house is, for the most part, normal. Ignoring the strange collection of clown figurines, the man moves through the living room to a tall staircase, hesitating before he takes the first step. He quickly retrieves a cylindrical package from one of the rooms down the hallway.
He cautiously makes his way up the stairway, trying not to make too much noise. Approaches a door. Turns the doorknob.
Aware of how early it is, he opens the door slowly. The room is lit by the slightest glow from the window, and he can just make out the numerous posters littering the walls.
Without a sound, he places the package beside a dresser, leaning against the wall.
A faint sniffing noise startles him. Turning, he sees the figure of a boy sprawled out on his bed. The kid is snoring gently, one hand hanging over the edge, and just for a second the man is worried that he saw him. The moment passes, and he prepares to leave.
He stops at the door. On a whim, he pulls a small sheet of paper from his shirt pocket. Grabbing a pen off of the dresser, he scrawls a note and leaves it beside the package.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY SON.
I AM SO PROUD OF YOU.