[Drama] Hung a sign on a torn screen door

[Emilie]

"No need for apology. We're good about handling ourselves."

She and Sam seemed to be on the same page with whom they were dealing with, but what to do from here stumped the novice mind-delver a bit, and while she let the two men bicker, she focused her own energy towards Sam, hoping she could slip her general confusion the other girl's way without tipping any cards.

[Victor Freud]

"So it would seem." Sullivan said with a smile that seemed well-practiced.

"Yeah, well I'm sick of handlin' m'self, that's all I ever get to do, you never let me have any fun." Idward complained bitterly to the taller sibling, as though it were a foregone conclusion that he would have gotten what he wanted had the other not arrived when they did. And without Sam's well-trained abilities, it's difficult to say whether or not he was wrong in his assessment. The two siblings continued to bicker as the redheads conversed with each other.

"Oh, do be quiet, you simpering sybarite. Don't you have work you should be doing?"

"Kinda hard to grow crops when you ain't got no seeds'ta plant. What'm I 'posed to do, plant my imagination? Why can't ya be useful fer a change and hop back inta yer little 'lectric razor an' go inta town an' get some?"

Sullivan looked as though he was starting to lose his cool as his perfect suit looked a little more ruffled. "You know damn well I'm only authorized to handle affairs with our customers, I don't have the authority to buy from our suppliers. Besides, Egon is the only one who can cut the cheque, you know that as well as I do."

"Aye, I do. And I knows that for all yer fancylad book-learnin' and posturin' you've ain't got the slightest idea what you gotta get. Yer more likely to come home with'a new washer n' dryer than the right seeds an' fertilizer. Not that you could fit 'em in that matchbox you call a car."

"Well, if I'm so useless, why don't YOU go into town and get what we need?"

"'cause I can't cut no cheque neither! Or drive. You want me t'walk inta town an' bring stuff home in th' wheelbarrow? The fields'll be bare an' the bank'll foreclose on us b'fore I make it half-way back."

[Samantha McManus]

"Seems to me you're missing a third," she observes.

[Emilie]

Catching onto what Sam was dropping, the woman turned her attention between the two pieces of what should be a fully formed psyche.

"Now-now boys." She added reaching out gently to sort out Sullivan's ruffled lapels for him. "I'm sure the pair of us can get everyone what they want." She followed by pulling the comb from inside her leather jacket, and turning to reach out and fix Idward's hair for him. As best she could anyways.

"We just need to go and see Egon, right?" She asked in a tone not unlike a school teacher trying to get two children to work together.

[Victor Freud]

For his part, Sullivan seemed almost a little embarrassed at Em's touch, likely due to the realization that he'd let himself become so heated and so... disheveled as to require some maintenance from her. Idward however seemed very skeptical of the brush but eager for the attention, which resulted in a very conflicted expression on his face.

"I, well, that does sound like a solution, yes. There's just a slight problem. You see..."

"Egon ain't seein' nobody right now." Idward interjected.

"Yes, it's true." Sullivan didn't even appear upset that his "sibling" had interrupted him this time. He raised his hand to his chin in thought. "Or rather, he's not seeing US. And, since he didn't tell us to prepare for any visitors, then I doubt he would be expecting you ladies."

"It's as good an excuse as any. I reckon he's as much'a sucker fer a pretty face as th' next man." Idward's thin-lipped grin showed off those crooked teeth with their browned edges. Sullivan raised his hand and opened his mouth to say something but instead moved on to something else.

"Right! Now we just need to get you ladies to the house and..." Sully gave pause before turning to look at his car, and then the two women, and then Idward. "... fox, goose, beans. Hmm. Right, well, let's just take the shortcut through the orchard instead. It'll only take us a few minutes. And it will offer us time to devise a plan... or answer any questions you ladies may wish to put forward."

Idward's face lit up at the mention of the orchard, he seemed very keen on the idea now.

[Emilie]

The female seemed a bit skeptical. On the one hand, Idward was clearly onboard which meant shit was about to get very weird.

On the other, Sullivan suggested it, so how weird could it get?

She weighed the two options quickly, deciding that she was more or less comfortable with a Freud's weirdness at this point.

"I'm game if she is." She resolved, nodding her head in Sam's direction.

[Samantha McManus]

"I don't see a problem with taking a shortcut," she nods.

[Victor Freud]

"Well then, it's decided! Oh, not to worry if you don't have appropriate footwear, it really will only take a moment." Sully turned toward the side of the road opposite from them, where a small cleft in the crop had gradually split and widened like a piece of paper being torn in two - from one end to the other. The path was still developing as he stepped onto it, even as the trees in the "orchard" were taking shape, twisting themselves out of clusters of crops to take on their new role.

Surprisingly (perhaps) Idward did not wait for the girls to follow, but rather took off ahead of them and even pushed past his younger sibling, which resulted in a few choice words from the latter before they remembered their present company. As they walked he spoke about things that didn't really matter, talking about the harvest and the orchard as though the farm were an actual farm.

"... of course, most of what we grow is simply waste material, chaff. But that is harvested and broken down into fertilizer, putting nutrients back into the soil. The orchard here is the cream of the crop; only the finest will do, because only the finest will give the distinctive complex, layered flavours you find only from our products." What those products were was... a little vague. But the trees themselves were no more straightforward as their shape often didn't corelate with what was growing on their boughs. A tall and stately elm bore large, shiny apples and oranges that looked vibrant, succulent, and sweet. Directly across from it was what appeared to be a weeping willow, every bit as tall and certainly full, with granny smith apples, cranberries, and a strange green fruit that looked like a spiky cucumber. There were others; a gnarled and twisted tree whose few leaves were brown and jagged and bore various chili peppers, some sort of evergreen like a spruce of a fir that was twisted away from the path as if it were trying to distance itself from the visitors or keep them away from the limes and lemons that grew upon it. A small and sickly-looking tree had... something on the branches, whatever they were were shriveled up and rotten, and what looked like a Japanese cherry tree bore large and juicy peaches; it was under this one that Idward could be seen with a peach in each hand, biting one fruit and then the other, letting the excess juices run down his chin and onto his already dirty shirt.

There were a few others, saplings mostly, that looked like seemingly random splices from the main six and their offerings reflected this; oranges coloured like granny smiths, that strange spiky melon but curled and red like chili peppers - all sorts of strange, impossible combinations.

"You can sample some, if you like. Though if I may make a suggestion, I'd stick to this one." Sully pointed to the Elm. "The others are not as pleasant on their own, but are necessary for a balanced finished product." Idward's enjoyment of the peaches suggested otherwise, at least for that one in particular.

[Samantha McManus]

"Seems like you've gotten a bit... experimental, here. Or is it just this season's crop that came out different?"

[Victor Freud]

Sully turned to look at Samantha. "Hmm? Oh, you mean the crossbreeds?" He asked, gesturing to the strange fusions that occurred among the 6 larger trees. "Oh no, it's perfectly normal for them to cross-pollinate and create new varieties. In time, they'll be just as large as their parents, if not larger.

"If there's still a farm, that is. Once all the chaff is gone we'll be forced to sell these as well."

[Emilie]

"That's not going to happen." She replied to Sully in a firm voice that was clearly meant to assuage his concerns. "We won't let it happen. Right?" Addressing Sam.

[Samantha McManus]

"I don't think there's anything here that can't be straightened out," she says with confidence.

[Victor Freud]

Sully seemed to take some solace in the women's reassurances, even if it seemed unlikely. They were, after all, the best option he had right now.

"Right, then we shouldn't tarry any longer. We've got work to do." The man in the sharp suit turned to continue on toward the farmhouse. Idward however remained under the "peach" tree, distracted from their mission by gorging himself on enough fruit that the excess juices were soaking his shirt.

The rest of the walk to the farmhouse was actually rather short, despite the route they'd been on before had been a straight line that stretched on for miles. But that was just how mindscapes work sometimes; instead of his being separated with levels, layers, and rooms, the walls sectioning off each area seemed invisibly woven in to the landscape. Before they knew it they were in the front yard of the farmhouse itself, the visage thankfully no longer blurry at this close proximity.

That didn't mean it wasn't without it's peculiarities, of course. The house was in one piece, but not; it was more like a compilation of borderless photographs of it at different points in time, cut and pieced together like a collage or a stained glass window. Some portions were dark with night, others slick from the pouring rain, a section of the roof was covered in show, a portion of one wall bright in the noonday sun. It kept shifting and changing, the borders between pieces sometimes overtaking one another to create new shapes, but the frame and silhouette of the place remained the same. The bicycle and tricycle leaning against the wall were upright, then laying on it's side, then it was two bicycles, then two and a tricycle, then two bikes again; colours changing from blue to pink before it reset.

Emilie might've recognized the place, if she still had those memories; it was the farmhouse where Victor had grown up. Only it was an amalgamation of it over his entire lifetime, not a specific moment or an abstract concept. But even here there were signs of degradation that she never would have witnessed in the real world. Weeds were growing in a front garden that had always been sewn with care, the screen door on the front deck was pitted with holes, and the old red barn nearby looked to be held together with little more than nails and dust. More and more the whole place was taking on the appearance of yet another abandoned farm, foreclosed on by a bank and left to fall in on itself.

Sullivan was in the process of removing a cigar from it's metal tube and prepping it for lighting when he finally did speak.

"I'll leave you both to it then. You... might have more luck if he doesn't suspect I've had anything to do with this."

[Samantha McManus]

"Not been on speaking terms, then? That's rarely healthy."

[Emilie]

She indeed did recognize her surroundings. Her baser instincts told her that she needed to do something actively, but the part of her that sprung from Sam told her to be still, and let the Morrigan do her work. She therefore kept her hands to herself, though the melancholy she felt at the display of mental distress manifested before her was palpable.

[Victor Freud]

"Things aren't usually like this. Freud Farms is a family-owned and operated LLC, and we all contribute to every facet of it's daily operations." Sully looked back toward the orchard. "Well, some more than others. Lately Egon has been completely focused on the paperwork, to the point where he doesn't have time for anything else. I've been working here for over fifteen years now and I've never before seen him like this. It's like there's no end to it. I've offered to help, but he keeps telling me that he needs to handle this himself.

"Do... try to be patient with him. He was very short with me the last time we spoke, I think he's under a lot of stress. So try not to take it personally if he's rude, he's usually not like that." Sullivan was showing a little bit of humility and... concern for his brother? Whatever it was, he wasn't quite as boisterous as he'd been previously.

[Samantha McManus]

"No, I'd rather expect him to be helping you and the peach-eater to get along," she nods, making her way in.

[Emilie]

Sam's partner in crime looked to Sullivan and smile, patting him on the chest before moving past him to follow Sam in.

[Victor Freud]

The screen door opened with that characteristic raspy groan of spring-loaded hinges, and the slam as it shut behind the two visitors. The two found themselves in the foyer the old wooden farmhouse. On their right was what appeared to be a large living room, and on the left a dining room that led into a kitchen in the next room. Stairs led up to the second floor where one would assume the bedrooms were kept, and straight ahead stretched a long hallway with wainscotting of darkly-stained wood and ornate wallpaper, which gave off the impression of being far longer than should be possible for a house of this size. The place was deathly quiet except for clack clack sound of a mechanical clock ticking away somewhere, and the faintest hint of muffled music coming from the room at the end of the hall.

Outside, Sully was busy fixing his suit.

[Emilie]

She finally took the lead with some hesitancy, rationalizing that if he would recognize either if them first, it would be her. She stepped calmly down the hallway towards the music, examining as she went.

[Samantha McManus]

"Getting a bit of a hoarder vibe, here." Sam comments quietly as they approach.

[Emilie]

"Holding onto the things he can remember perhaps?"

[Samantha McManus]

"But they're not where anyone can find them, and that's the problem."

[Emilie]

"I think that may have been what was growing in the orchard. But if he's cut himself off in here and stopped 'farming', it stands to reason that he only has things needed for core functions in here.

But Emilie wanted to major in photography soooo.."

The entity shrugged.

[Victor Freud]

Speaking of photography, the walls of the long, dark-paneled hallway sported numerous framed photos of various sizes, depicting animated scenes throughout Victor's life. Unlike those of the field, these were from the viewpoint of the photographer's lens rather than Victor's own, suggesting that these were more than just his memories, but his memories as associated with photos he'd seen growing up or stories that had been shared. Many were of him and his family throughout the years; as a baby, then a toddler with a baby sister, with proud parents hugging both on the same couch that still sat in the living room. Another, years later, showed three children, this youngest sister obviously several years younger than her older siblings. Not every picture was of the Freud children, some were of what the entity formerly known as Emilie might recognize as his father or mother, or grandparents. And a few were just of landscapes, all of which were animated with rolling waves lapping at a sandy beach, or maple and birch trees swaying in the wind. One thing was noticeable though; at about the same time as the boy looked to turn about 13 or 14 years old, the formerly wide and genuine smiles started to fade from the pictures, replaced by subtler, almost sad ones. Even his graduation photo from the institute. His sisters however never lost that glimmer.

The sound of papers being shuffled and sorted through could be heard as the two drew closer to the back room; unlike the road to the farmhouse, the hallway didn't stretch on for eternity, so it hadn't taken them long to reach it. Papers shuffling, an office chair squeaking, feet waking around, boxes being moved, the pops and crackles of a record player... there was definitely activity in there.

[Samantha McManus]

As they reach the door, Sam listens for a few moments and, since nothing sounds particularly distressed inside, raps her knuckles on the door. A simple shave-and-a-haircut. He seemed the type.

[Victor Freud]

There was a pause before a voice spoke up from behind the door.

"Not now Sully, I'm busy."

However, when Sam knocked on the door the redhead would discover that it was slightly ajar, the force of her touch causing it to swing open by an inch.

[Samantha McManus]

In the light cast from the open door, a raven steps from Sam's shadow, walking over to poke its head in.

[Victor Freud]

From it's low vantage point, the raven would see a large wooden desk in the middle of the room with stacks of paper piled on top of it. Actually, there were stacks of papers everywhere, and bankers boxes overflowing with stuff; all stacked in towers on top of each other. A grandfather clock marked the passing seconds with it's tinny tapping, keeping in time with the antique floor-model phonograph that crackled and popped while playing a soft big band score. A small mass of messy black hair was visible moving behind the piles of papers on the desk. There were other objects; nest to the desk stood a wooden hat and coat stand that boasted far more of the former than the latter; a fedora, a newsboy, a French beret, an officer's cap, and others - but one peg was left empty. Natural light was pouring in from a window to the left that looked to have some sort of a large workbench under it, though what it was used for was impossible to determine from the floor. There was the smell of dust and paper, naturally, but also the aroma of fresh-baked apple pie. The walls had some picture frames, but the wallpaper was discoloured in many places in squares, rectangles, and ovals - suggesting that the ornate wallpaper had been sun-bleached over the years and that many frames had been recently removed. A curio cabinet stood to the right, it's doors open and the contents half-emptied, more bankers boxes on the floor looking to contain it's former contents. And all the while, the slow melodic female voice on the record drifted out into the hallway.

"Sometimes when I,
Wanna run away and hide,
When there's no one on my side,
And all my pride had disappeared.

I take it off my mind,
And leave it all behind,
Nothin' left to do but,
Try to take the leap and follow through..."

Pop. Crackle. Scratch. Silence. Pop.

"Sometimes when I,
Wanna run away and hide,
When there's no one on my side,
And all my pride has disappeared...."

The man behind the desk clearly didn't notice the record skipping, or didn't care, as it happened several times without him moving from his desk.

[Samantha McManus]

Pulling back, the crow steps back into her shadow and disappears. Feeling a bit more confident, she shifts her avatar into a smart-looking formal business suit. She flicks her wrist and a pair of glasses appears, and she slips them on as she pushes through the ajar door.

"Mister Freud, we're here from the bank."

[Victor Freud]

With her new vantage point Sam had a better view of the room, and it's lone occupant. The table to the left was indeed a workbench, upon which sat the makings of a ship in a bottle, left unfinished. Behind the large wooden desk in the middle of the room, the man called Egon looked up from his papers with an expression that was a mixture of surprise, fear, and annoyance. Of the three Freuds the pair had encountered so far, this one looked the most like the real deal... but it wasn't exact. For one, he had a set of bags under his eyes that made him look as though he hadn't slept in over a week. He was dressed in a white button-up shirt with black suspenders and slacks, and his messy black hair was pushed up into a faux ducktail by the green banker's visor he'd been wearing while doing his paperwork. Pushing himself to his feet, he pointed at Sam with the red pen he'd been using to circle and make notes on the various pieces of papers in front of him.

"Now-now-now-now-now wait right there a minute, ma'am. I've still got until the end of the month to get this sorted, and once I do, everything'll change, you'll see."

[Samantha McManus]

"I'm afraid the underwriters have some rather serious concerns. The farm's output is at a halt, even though you clearly have produce to ship. I understand you've had a falling-out with your... business partners?"

[Victor Freud]

"Bah! They don't know what they're talking about, and neither do you. Who cares about the crops? They're not important." Odd thing for a farmer to say, for certain.

Crackle.

Tick.

Scratch.

Tock.

Pop.

The pocket watch on the work bench sat half-assembled, it's cogs and gears laid out carefully.

[Emilie]

With Egon distracted, she slipped into the room and began examining things. Chiefly, the work bench. She touched nothing however, for fear of upsetting somethinf.

[Samantha McManus]

"Mister Freud, if we don't know what's going on here, whose fault is that? You haven't been very communicative with us to reassure that the investment is in sound hands."

[Victor Freud]

Stepping into the room gave the entity formerly known as Emilie a better idea of just what kind of a state the place was in. Every time she turned her head the stacks of papers seemed higher, stretching closer and closer to the ceiling in precarious towers, forming walls between which paths of bare floor allowed the navigation of the space. On the floor and smaller piles say the banker's boxes with their various contents; one held photographs in heart-shaped frames, a few of which the glass panes were cracked. Another had bundles of sheet music and pieces of what looked to be some sort of woodwind instrument, among with a metronome and other related items. A box of photo albums, the top one open to pages of vacation photos. Costume clothing, a pair of ballet slippers, and some VHS tapes with worn and faded covers. Cookbooks, pie plates, and a picture of a smiling, grey-haired old woman in a round frame with doves at the bottom. High school and university text books with some photos sticking out of the pages, next to another box filled with various spy novels and what looked to be old padlocks and simple picks. Various hand tools and farm implements. A fast food service uniform, some empty take-out containers, and a binder of instructions. Close to the curio cabinet one box contained a certain black leather uniform coat with riding boots and rolled up blueprints and sketches, along with papers with letterheads that included the Xavier Institute, Bishop Security, X-Corp, the Baxter Building, Stark Industries, and something called Department H... among others.

The spade fork on the work table lay next to the new handle, the toolbox beside it open and a hammer already taken out. Though by the time Emilie approached it, it was a breech-loading shotgun that had been disassembled and in the process of being cleaned. Every time either woman looked away from the worktable and then back again the task changed, but the state of the job remained uncompleted. Whether it was their minds making sense of an abstract concept or Victor's own was difficult to say but either way the outcome was the same; work that needed to be done was left unfinished. The open window over the workbench showed the fields outside, with a few disturbed patches visible.

"I don't have TIME to sit down and have a meeting with you about this! If I did, you would be the first to know." Egon began to work at the table standing up, shuffling through the papers and circling some of them before slapping them down on a sizable stack that would have been impressive, were it not for the numerous other towers of untouched paperwork around him. "But I have to get enough of this sorted and processed to make room for the rest of it, because if I don't have all of it then all of this is worthless. It's all or nothing! But when I do have all of it, if I can fit it all in before the deadline... there'll be no reason to worry about product any more. Never, ever again, for anyone."

[Emilie]

"Would you like assistance?" She offers, looking about at the mounting piles of paperwork, the rotating unfinished projects, and the partially packed boxes of personal items.

[Victor Freud]

"If you can make heads or tails of it, be my guest. Honestly, it all goes over my head." Egon admitted, before he moved and grabbed the box with the sheet music and instrument inside of it and picked it up, carrying it toward the window. No sooner had he done so than a massive stack of papers fell with a dense THUD right where it had been sitting. He then proceeded to throw the entire banker's box out the window, box and all, to land in the field and make another depression in the crops.

One of the pictures that still remained on the wall depicted Victor and Veronica sitting on a piano bench, the pair smiling as she mimed playing the piano while he sat holding his bassoon, their younger sister Lily standing in the foreground with a kazoo in her mouth pointed upward. Not long after the box disappeared out the window the picture changed, Victor now sitting with his hands on his knees while the other two remained the same.

[Emilie]

"Well, my associate is free to correct me if I'm wrong, but generally pitching your problems out the window isn't exactly a sound accounting method."

[Samantha McManus]

"I think you can see where we'd be concerned, Mr. Freud."