Chapter 4: Style, finesse, and of course... A REALLY cool car

The musty room had stood devoid of life for more than a decade now. Only the faded footsteps in the dust proved that once a year, a human presence made itself known in the almost perpetually dark garage. Many of the tools that hung on the wall above the simple workbench were by now old and rusted. And as technology advanced most were left somewhat archaic. The few that were missing, had been requisitioned many years ago, and now only dust and the odd cobweb marked their passing.

In the center of the room stood a large, almost ominous shape. Hidden beneath an orange tarp and several inches of dust, the car waited with the patience of the inanimate. Beside it, a smaller tarp covered a lesser, but no less meaningful vehicle. The mountain bike's owner would never ride it again. Infact, neither of the machines owner's were likely to return to them. But such is the fate of toys left by children who have outgrown them...

Sunlight spilled into the room, chasing away the shadows that had lingered there for a year, undisturbed by human passage. But the loud, grinding protest of the old rusting door was ignored by the two figures who stood silhouetted in the doorway, their own shadows falling across the enormous tarp covered vehicle in the center of the room.

"This is it," commented Miranda with a sad smile, her tone distant as she walked up to the car and ran her hand idly over the tarp-covered hood, "my father's favorite toy."

Misty stepped carefully up behind her, half wondering if she should be careful to only stand in Miranda's footprints lest she upset the layer of dust on the floor. "Can I see it?" she inquired, her curiosity lingering more upon learning a little more about the man her lover put on such a high pedestal than on the vehicle itself. Cars were a rare thing outside of the larger cities, and were seldom interesting devices. "Form equals function" was something of an adage when it came to the small, cramped boxes on wheals commuters used.

The courier nodded, leaning down before the car almost reverently as she reached beneath the front bumper and untied the rope that held the tarp in place. As she stood up, Miranda pealed the plastic material back like a shed skin, revealing a vehicle that would have caused her Uncle Frank's growlithe to have a small, pleasant seizure.

The car was huge by any standards, but not dangerously so. It would still squeeze between the lines on any paved road, but its intimidation value alone would have made it a force to be reckoned with. It was also nearly twice as long as most cars, with two huge fins at the back that seemed to serve no true purpose other than style.

Its collapsible roof stood out, a duller shade against the shiny midnight-black of its exterior, and the car's trunk seemed enormous until one saw the amount of space within the vehicle.

"My father saw something like it in a movie when he was kid," explained Miranda, walking around the vehicle, caressing its surface with her fingertips almost affectionately as she went, "And he decided he wanted one. He saved every credit he had for five years, before started construction. Uncle Frank even helped out a bit when they met about a year later, and when it was done they used to drive around Lavender like a couple of kids with a new toy, showing it off and causing trouble until they nearly got arrested."

Misty snickered at the irony as Miranda glanced up and caught her eye. "And later on, it was in this car that he took that little trip my grandparents sent him on," the courier continued with a reminiscent smile, "They were looking to retire in a few years, and wanted him to get to know our clients and stuff. Little did they know he'd bring home his fianc≠e."

Misty found herself smiling at the thought. "I guess that's kinda romantic," she offered with meaningful look.

"I dunno," Miranda confessed sadly with a shrug, "I've never been given the whole story. My father just sorta alluded to some kind of problem with Mom and her family. But I remember him saying once that it was bad. There was a certain... I don't know. Conviction? To his words that told me there's more to my maternal grandparents than I care to know.

"Anyway, they apparently met when mom was working in a restaurant, and my Aunt was studying under some professor of parazoology. He once muttered something about it angering him that anyone would treat their children that way. I dunno..."

Misty had moved to Miranda's side, and was now clutching the courier's arm as she leaned against her. "It sounds a bit like he was trying to save her," she said sadly, a tinge of anger entering her voice, "It would seem that you're justified in your feelings for him."

Miranda nodded slowly. "He apparently loved my mom from the first time he saw her," she said in a slow, careful tone, moving to embrace her beloved, "And for the record, in our time together, I never saw him get angry. I never heard him raise his voice. No matter how much of a brat I was. But you could tell that he hated my maternal grandparents almost as much as he loved me and my mom..."

Misty glanced up as she heard Miranda choke on her words, and felt her beloved's body shake. "I wish I could have met him," she in honest sympathy, reaching up to wipe the tear from her lover's eye, "He sounds almost as noble and wonderful as his daughter."

"He, he also said," continued Miranda, her head on Misty's shoulder, breathing in the scent of her skin and feeling thankful to finally have someone who cared about her so much, "That the only revenge that he would take up them, was to raise a child better than they did. Better than they could! To be the very antithesis of them..."

"I think that he succeeded," whispered Misty, holding her closer and feeling her own eyes well up with tears, "for you to love him so much."

Miranda smiled, in spite of herself, fighting the urge to laugh. "You're right of course," she both sobbed and chuckled, hugging her lover a little closer for a moment, "But I don't think he can claim all the credit. My mom did a pretty good job too."

"I'm sure she'd like to hear that-" offered Misty, quickly biting off her impulsive comment.

"No," assured Miranda, running her fingers affectionately through Misty's hair, "you're right, dearest. I don't tell her that enough. And I really should. I just find it so hard to talk to her sometimes."

"Why?"

Miranda shrugged, taking a deep breath. "My father," she explained after letting Misty's question hang in the air for a moment, "Was the most open handed, honest, approachable person you could imagine. Even more so than you!"

Misty laughed, giving Miranda quick kiss on the neck. "I'm not that honest," she confessed, "Do you know how often I've lied to my sisters?"

Her lover's chuckled response was reassuring. "Yeah, but if you were absolutely perfect, you'd be boring," replied Miranda, finding it hard to stay sad within Misty's arms, "But seriously, my dad is... Was. Like you. An extrovert, I guess. But my mom's the complete opposite. And she has this way of looking at you, like she can see right into your soul and know exactly what you're thinking."