Clarissa looked over to Micheal, wings that once fluttered in agitation, now drooped in desperation.

"What do you mean by 'something's wrong'?" She frowned. "She seemed perfectly fine just a moment ago."

Clara turned her gaze to Scrap Baby, who sat limply against the wall before them.
Her green eyes dull and lifeless.

Anxiety fluttered in Clara's chest like a trapped dove thrashing wildly in a cage.
Though Micheal had attempted to assure Clara that Elizabeth was still in there, charging Scrap Baby still wasn't bringing her back.

Micheal looked up at his mother, looking like he always used to when he didn't want to worry her more than he needed to.
And she'd always remind him that she was the parent, and he, the child.
That was how it worked. It was supposed to be the other way around.
Her protecting him.

Now Clara found herself longing to keep to the dark.
The blissful pleasure that came with the ignorance that she held dear for over thirty years.
Thirty unpleasant years.
Felt more like thirty lifetimes spent in that cursed placed.

"Because," Micheal began slowly. "And, keep in mind that I'm just spitting out assumptions here, but- either she's refusing to wake up or... She's much more damaged than I initially accounted for." He paused, and averted his eyes from Clara's. "I'm going to need some help if I'm going to fix her."

It took Clara a moment to realize why Micheal looked so apologetic and guilty.
Her eyes widened and it became difficult to pull oxygen into her lungs.

"You don't mean..." Clara sputtered. "No. No- Micheal, you father's bad news. Terrible, wretched, unstable-"

"Even if that's the only way to save Elizabeth?" Micheal interrupted. "She's his daughter, too, you know."

Clara didn't have an answer to oppose that. Which only made her that much more upset.

No, she was more than upset, Clara was practically fuming.
But, beneath all that rage, was a fluttery, shameful feeling.

Not love.
Goodness, no...
She was just nervous, that's all. Anxious.

Clara didn't know if she could ever love William again.
But that didn't change the fact that, once upon a time, she did.
And maybe- just maybe- she might again.

But now?
Best to deflect with rage.
Anger was so much better of an option for Clara at the moment.

Funtime Foxy opened his stupid mouth to ask a stupid question and she shushed him before he could utter a word.

"Get into the car." Clara said darkly. "And if you make a sound, we're going to drop you off at the nearest scrap yard. Do you understand me?"
But Clara walked away before she could hear 's response, and he had no choice but to follow.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

William was unpleasantly surprised to receive a call from his son this early in the morning.
The birds were still consumed in slumber and the sun had yet to kiss the horizon with streaks of flames.

Micheal had always been, in a word, lazy. Never wanting to wake up before, at the very least, 7am.
You can see how this was a problem for school.

At the time, though, William was awake. He hadn't slept for nearly three decades, so why even bother?

He was staring at his reflection in his bathroom mirror.
More precisely, at the dingy golden-greenish rabbit ears protruding from his mess of purple hair.

William assumed that the effect may have been caused by an "accidental" default in the wiring or programming on the illusion disc that Micheal had gave him.

Most likely a feeble attempt of a joke or perhaps humiliation?
Either way, it was there, and William had soon come to the conclusion that staring at it and willing it out of existence could only go so far.

A chiming sound like windpipes singing in the breeze drifted from the counter.
William ignored it, thinking it was some kind of scam.

William did never know why people did that. Or how people even fell for their amateur lies.

'Click this mystery link from a random person about something you never did, nor did you intend to do! But, hey, it's free! Hope it's not a virus!'

Scamming was idiotic and desperate.
Though, when William gave in and glanced at the phone, he saw that it was a known number.
And the number belonged to Micheal.

So William decided to have a lovely talk with his dearest son. "What do you want?" He snarled, stabbing at the speaker button. "I'm busy." The perfect start to a heart-warming father-son conversation.

"Hello to you, too." Micheal dead-panned. "I need your help"

"Typical," William touched the ears to see if they were real flesh and bone.
Robotic...most peculiar. And weird.

"You're one to talk." William ignored Micheal's comment. "Either way, Scrap Baby's nervous sensors aren't responding and Elizabeth is completely- uh, she's not waking up. I think the stress caught up to her, or something like that. Though the specific reason is beyond me."

William pinched his left ear, finding that he could feel the pain. Most curious...
"Did you charge her? Or change her battery all together?"

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" Micheal scoffed."

"Do you want me to answer that question honestly?" William wondered how much it would hurt if he cut off the rabbit ears all together.
He must have asked that out loud, because Micheal groaned.

"No, dad, please. What is wrong with you?"

"A lot of things, though that doesn't matter right now." William picked up the phone and walked out of the bathroom. "I assume you need me to come over to help you fix her?"

There was a pause at the other end of the line, though a slight swishing sound indicated that Micheal might have been nodding, before he realized that William couldn't see him.
"Yes, when you you come?"

William sank into a beige sofa in his living room.
Micheal had bought William a whole condo just so that Micheal could get his father out of his way. It was, naturally, all the way across the city from the beach house Micheal lived in.
Why Micheal chose that specific home was beyond William, but that was none of his business.

How Micheal had bought a home for a man who was reported missing decades ago was also not understood by William but, whatever.
Bribery? Idiocy? Straight up neglection?

Alas, people were lazy, and Aftons were notorious for being suckers for luxury (William liked to blame his upbringing).

William realized that Micheal was still waiting for an answer, and glanced at the time on the top of his screen. It was 5:27am.
"I'll be over by six."