Work Text:
“Gorgug, bud, whatcha working on?” asks Digby, poking his nose under his son’s arm and examining the discombobulated contraption spread out before him.
“Uh…”
Digby scrutinizes the machinery and scratches his chin. “Why, if I didn’t know any better, it looks like you’re trying to build a lawnmower!”
“Um… yeah,” admits Gorgug. “I am.”
“You’re building one from scratch? You know we have a perfectly good one.”
Gorgug seethes silently, his hands bunching into fists around his tools, though not tight enough to break anything. Do we, Dad? he itches to shout. Or do we have a four-in-one sex machine monstrosity that also happens to trim grass? No, Gorgug knows better than to go off on his parents, who were just trying to enjoy life during another apocalypse – one his friend and party member caused, no less.
“Well…” he says slowly instead, tamping down his rage. “I’m… not comfortable using that one now. And before you offer to mow the lawn instead of me, to be honest I’m not comfortable with anyone using it. So I thought I’d build a new one.”
“Oh, bud… we can take it apart, put it back to how it used to be…!”
“I’d rather… you didn’t. It’s… my memories of that lawnmower are tainted. I’d prefer it if we just got a new one.”
“Well…”
“Let me just have the project, please?” His voice is strained, desperate.
Digby swallows his words and nods. “Okay, bud. I understand. I’m sure it’ll be a fine lawnmower when you’re done.”
“Thanks, Dad.”