Comfort Tales

Presence ~ Warfstache Comfort Tale

(( Author's Note:  I wrote this awhile ago actually, but didn't post it because it's a little crazy. I've been feeling super emotional today though, so I've been reading back through some of the comfort tales, and I figured... why the heck not. It's a pretty short one anyway. If you don't know what a comfort tale is all about, go read the warning on some of the others, I figure you already know this far into the book. ))

"Why are you here?" I muttered, rubbing the bridge of my nose with my fingers.

"Do you not... want me here?" The man asks, sitting on my coffee table. I watch his pink mustache wiggle, keeping an eye on him over the back of my hand. It's an odd choice for him to sit on the coffee table when there's a lot of other seats available. I'm pretty sure of that.

Though, this isn't a man that exists. "It's not that I don't want you here, more that you shouldn't be here." I sigh.

He taps his fingers along his chin and grins. "Wilford Warfstache doesn't much care for what he should or shouldn't do."

I let my hands fall into my lap and stare at him. Slowly I lean forward, reaching a hand out towards him. His eyes widen comically and he slowly leans back, always managing to stay just out of my grasp. "You don't exist." I explain. "You can't." I jump forward, but suddenly, he's gone.

"Can't?" The voice came from the opposite corner of the room and I turn to see him leaned against the wall, fingers tracing down the pole of a lamp. He looks over, giving me a smile. "Why can't I exist?" I look back to the coffee table where he'd been sitting, then across the room where he was, but he's gone again. "I'm here, aren't I?" The voice at the other end of the couch makes me jump and I gasp as I turn to face him. Legs crossed, he rolls his fingertips over his knee, winking playfully.

I close my eyes as tightly as I can. "Nothing about you is real. You're... you're a character, Wilford. Played by a man I don't really know, who sure as hell doesn't know me."

"And that's how you want it to be then?" Comes that familiar drawl. The voice so crisp and clear in the air.

Shaking my head, I open my eyes and stare at him, waiting for the illusion to fade. "Of course not."

Wilford grins. "Then why-" He lets his mouth hang open at a crooked angle as he draws out the word, before he continues. "... is that the way it HAS to be?"

"Because that's what makes sense." I mumble. "That's what's normal. That's what's acceptable."

Wilford narrows his eyes, cocking his head to the side. "Accep-table? When has Wilford Warfstache ever been acceptable? THIS is fabulous!" I can't help but laugh and he smiles. "What could possibly be wrong with this?"

I quiet my laughter. "Finding comfort in things that aren't real?"

Wilford leans back, sinking into the couch. "Do I make you feel better?"

"Wilford..." I groan.

"Ah, ah, ah!" He waggles a finger in the air, and then wiggles his mustache. "Do I make you feel better?"

I run a hand through my hair, as he watches me with that sparkle in his eyes that tells me he already knows the answer. "A little."

"Sounds settled to me." Wilford grins, and I know there's no point in fighting any longer. He's already won, and I'm already feeling a bit better.

(( Author's Note:  So, like I said, I wrote this one awhile ago, couple months ago I think. I write the egos a lot, and so sometimes when I'm upset, I have conversations with them in my head to work through things... because most things related to Mark are comforting for me, and the egos are a lot easier for me to imagine responses for at this point. Sometimes, I get frustrated with myself for doing it... which is where this story comes from. :) Anxiety is great. ))