The Cloverleaf Museum of History had dedicated half a floor of their four-story building to the history of Cloverleaf and the pre-Disaster city it had replaced, Helena. And in that area, they’d dedicated one room to the city’s builder and founder, Cya Red Doomsday.
Tarben had stared at the official portrait for perhaps a little too long. She didn’t look all that different than he remembered her. She’d let her hair go back to brown, except one streak in the distinctive “Cya Red.” She was smiling, the sort of exasperated little smile he remembered well. And she was wearing academic robes, which made her look a little bit distinctive and maybe a few years older.
Few years. Tarben snorted, glad there was nobody else but an aging docent in the room – an aging docent that, if human, was young enough to be his daughter if not his granddaughter. Cya’s kids had been almost ready for Addergoole when she’d Kept Tarben, and that had been quite a long time ago.
He recognized the wooden chest to one side of the portrait; the one she’d built for him had lasted over fifty years, but he’d lost it when he’d had to flee a town a little too quickly. He recognized the replica self-storage unit, too, and had to stifle a laugh. What a way to show Cya’s history!
His eyes stopped on a rack of collars, and his smile vanished. Slowly, Tarben crossed the room, counting rows. Ten rows of ten. She’d gotten a bigger rack somewhere along the way. And…
“Excuse me?” He flagged down the docent. “There’s some collars missing.” His collar was missing.
“Oh, yes.” The docent beamed at him. “When she donated the rack to the museum, Mayor Doomsday held on to some of her favorites.”
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/1072046.html. You can comment here or there.