Fanon:Dreamer family (K6ka)

The Dirk family is a family in my version of Pleasantview. It consists of Darren Dreamer, the widower, and his son Dirk.

They are the second poorest family in Pleasantview, next to the Brokes. While Darren enjoys painting, he hasn't finished enough to pay off the bills. With Darren's financial crisis, the repo-man isn't too far away...

Meanwhile, Dirk has recently recovered after his bad encounter with a D- at school. He is almost an A+ student by the time the game begins. He may bring Lilith Pleasant home from school.

Part 1. A typical morning
It was just before dawn.

Darren rolled over in his bed, wishing for sleep to come back and keep him in his fantasies for another five minutes. He threw the covers over his head, hoping it would help bring sleep back. It didn't.

He tried shielding his head with the pillow, but it only made it difficult to breathe. He tried putting his arm over his eyes, but his arm soon felt cold, and he buried it back underneath the blankets. The fidgeting continued until sunlight streamed through the windows and onto his eyelids, tickling them until they surrendered and opened.

Blinding light was all Darren could see. If this was God, he thought, I'd ask Him dearly to give me five more minutes.

But alas, it seems the five minutes had come... and gone. Time to get up.

It was a lovely June morning. Darren cracked open the window and let the fresh morning air in. The birds were chirping, the wind a gentle breeze, and the horizon a beautiful hue of red and orange as the sun peered over it and onto Pleasantview.

The sight lifted his spirits, and for the first time in a long while, he didn't think of Darleen's death in the morning. He got dressed quickly and exited his bedroom.

He headed downstairs and knocked softly on Dirk's bedroom door. "Time to wake up, rise and shine!" he said. "It's so nice outside, I thought it was something out of a postcard."

"What time is it?" a sleepy voice answered.

"15 past 6," Darren replied. "No really, just come out and see for yourself! This isn't a morning where you want to sleep in!"

The groaning of springs could be heard. "Alright, I'll be out in five minutes," was Dirk's reply.

"So, are you going to Cassandra's wedding tomorrow?" Dirk asked.

"I dunno... maybe, but I just can't stand watching her say 'I do!' to that Lothario twat," Darren replied. "Besides, how many girlfriends does that guy have, 20?"

Dirk stared at his toaster pastries thoughtfully before he said, "Y'know, if Lothario can't keep the knot tied, maybe you have a chance at getting Cassandra while she's crying at the altar."

"That would break poor Morty's heart," Darren said. "Besides, he doesn't know that I love her daughter, and if he caught me trying to console her, he might faint at the sight of another 'potential heartbreak.'"

"Then how are you going to get her?"

Darren sighed. "I... don't know."

"Well, if you get any ideas, let me know about it. I'm curious." With that, Dirk got up and left the table.

Let's face it, Darren thought. I love this woman, but she doesn't seem to share the same reciprocal love. It's an awkward friend zone. Cassandra's nice, cute... and rich. Yeah, mostly rich. I'm practically eating my painting canvas while Cassandra's living like a queen, with her father's money at her disposal. If Don gets a huge chunk of that money... will there be any left for me?

Well, that's providing Don doesn't ditch Cassandra and actually ties the knot. Darren was hoping for that to happen. It would leave Cassandra open to him. Imagine the look on Don's face once he sees Darren with Cassandra! It would give Darren an automatic promotion in influence and wealth, and soon Darren would be able to look down at Don and say, "Dear dear, Uncle Lothario, you must amend your womanizing behavior. It looks bad on you, and you can't possibly hide your affairs from everyone forever. I already know that you're in love with both Caliente sisters. Oh yes, I saw you..."

Darren blinked. No, let's not go there. Let's focus on what we can do to "save" Cassandra from Don (and possibly save Don from having to tie the knot too), and most importantly, make Cassandra his.

Maybe I'll pay Don a visit today. I'll see if I can coax him into dumping Cassandra. He might not appreciate my presence, but he has to agree with me that he doesn't want this commitment. If Don doesn't want to marry Cassandra, that's alright — I can have her. She'll be happy with me, I with her, our poverty problems will be solved, and Don will be spared the promise he can't keep. It's a win-win situation.

The school bus pulled up in front of the house and honked its horn. Dirk was out the door in a heartbeat. Darren caught a glimpse of his son waving goodbye through the window. He gave back a small wave and a weak smile as the bus drove off. I hope Cassandra's okay with me using her money to pay for Dirk's college tuition, he thought.

Darren got up, washed the dishes, and got ready to pay Don Lothario an uninvited visit.

Part 2. A plan is a plan
Don looked up. His eyes were fixated on a pair of eyes, glittering like a diamond. Two lips below the eyes moved softly, almost invitingly. The cupid's bow was perfectly shaped, so beautiful it was almost unreal. Don gestured invitingly, and opened his mouth for a compliment... and maybe a complimentary kiss on those lips. But as he approached, the lips and the eyes started moving away. He came in closer, but still they ran from him. He wasn't going to let this one off! He chased, but still they ran. He kept going, and going, and going...

OOF!

The air charged out of Don's lungs like a blown up plastic bag being punched in the gut. His eyelids snapped open. The eyes and the lips were gone, replaced with the reddish hue of his bedroom carpeting. And speaking of lips, his own...

Don immediately got off the floor and wiped his mouth. Yuck. He looked around. His bed was behind him, the sheets rumpled and the blanket stripped off. The blanket was wrapped around his legs, and it took some effort for him to free himself. He did his best to straighten out the sheets and the blanket. Then he ran down the stairs, into the bathroom, and straight for the sink. He ran his mouth under the water for a few minutes. Blek. The taste of dirt, dust, and grime was still there.

He had done it again. Those imaginary eyes and imaginary lips have deceived him again. Don just couldn't figure out why those lips and eyes appeared, or at least, who they belonged to. A full month of sleeping with at least one of the Caliente sisters every night certainly did something to me, he thought.

He splashed some warm water over his face. There, that should do it. Now that he was awake, he could now start going about his daily routines. He had planned to skip work today; he could afford it. He had three vacation days clocked in already, and if nothing went to plan, all the hours of practicing his "sick" voice (along with listening to the noises of the patients at the hospital he worked at) will probably let him miss a day. Probably.

His stomach growled. Don was naturally hungry, but he didn't want to lose his slim figure. "Fat isn't sexy," as he liked to say. He opened the fridge, looking for something to eat. A can of lemon lime soda, opened and partially drunk a fortnight ago. A banana that has gone completely brown. A half-empty bag of toaster pastries, three months past the expiry date. I should really go shopping, he thought. May as well make good use of my day off!

The only thing that seemed remotely edible was an unopened can of meal replacement protein shake. He grabbed it, popped the tab, and started drinking. Chocolate flavored, no sugar, only six calories. What a deal. He drank greedily from the can until it was empty. He went over to the sink, filled it up with water, and gulped it down as well, to get every bit of the shake into his system. His stomach was still growling, but hopefully the shake will hold him over until he bought some real food.

He went outside, getting a breath of the warm June morning. The air was crisp and fresh, like water from a glacier. The sun came up from the east, peering over the horizon with a warm, friendly glow. Don's face shone, much to his surprise, and he felt happy. Euphoric. Carefree. It brought him back to the days of him being an innocent child, his mother Adriana waving to him from the living room window and his father Nicolo telling him to close the door behind him to stop the insects from getting in. Ah, the days of being so innocent and free and young...

Except his garden. The sun also illuminated his weak, pitiful garden. Don smacked himself in the forehead. He had forgotten to water his plants and pull the weeds. Again. Now the exterior of his condo looked a bit more like a ghetto than a suburban dwelling.

The ghetto reminded him a bit about his childhood living in the city. He lived in a middle-class, well off neighborhood populated with houses built in the Twenties and Thirties. He remembered riding his bicycle with a few of the other neighborhood kids, down the street to the local ice cream store for a cone. And, if his parents gave them permission, they would hop on the bus and ride it to Berkley's Plaza and come home with plastic toys and souvenirs, most of which broke on the way home. If they fell asleep on the bus and missed their stop, they would wind up in an area filled with slums ("Hell on earth," his mother would say), and they would have to pray and hope they had enough money to get on the bus home. If they didn't, they'd have to walk, or hope some friendly police officer was around to give them a ride. It usually resulted in a stern lecture about not falling asleep on the bus and missing your stop, but nothing else really happened.

Well, he thought. Those days are mostly gone. Gentrification overtook the neighborhood he once lived in, and he had watched his own house get torn down as a result. By then his parents were deceased, and he had to live at a friend's apartment, working three jobs at a time, before he was able to scrape the money together to buy his current residence in the suburbs of the city. He had so far found the people warm and welcoming, although the landscape still seemed foreign to him. Never in his life had he seen lots that had so much open space between them, and his old urban garden, which had a coffee table sized box of soil sandwiched between his tiny porch and the sidewalk, now had enough room to comfortably tend to from all angles.

Speaking of tending to his garden, he definitely needed to do that. He got down on his knees — a painful hell — and begun to pull the weeds out of the parched soil. Maybe he should've watered his plants first, but he couldn't find his garden hose. Some kid probably stole it, he thought.

Don was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear the sound of footsteps approaching. "Ah, Mr. Lothario, just the man I wanted to see on this fine morning!"

Don turned around to see Darren Dreamer strolling up beside him, as if he owned the public sidewalk. "Who invited you?" Don barked.

"I did," Darren replied with a smirk. "I invited myself to pay you a visit."

"Go away," Don barked, standing up to try and tower over Darren. "You're not funny."

"Oh? Well, I wasn't trying to be funny. In fact, this involves some serious business..."