Virgil tried to work a finger into the collar that dug into the flesh of his neck. A sharp smack knocked his hand away, his own fingers slapping his jaw. âOw!â
âCut that out, kiddo.â Grandma was unrepentant, and started fussing with the collar, ensuring it sat to her satisfaction, before finally grasping the tie and reseating it firmly against his throat.
âYou can breathe fine, kid. I donât know. You never used to complain when you had to dress up for piano recitals.â
A rasping sound had Virgil glaring at Scott. âDonât you start. If youâd only listened when we told you to wait, youâd not have caught that cold, you wouldnât have developed laryngitis, and I wouldnât be here doing your job for you.â
Scott held up his hands defensively, before signing âSorryâ.
Virgilâs glare didnât let up.
âI still donât know why you couldnât do it. We had enough recordings of you practising that you could have just lipsinced to it.â
âBecause everytime Scott practised his speech, Gordon played his âsubsonicâ sound effects in the next room. When they were played back, all you could hear was ghost noises, explosions and fart noises.â Kayo wasnât even trying to pretend she wasnât finding this amusing.
Virgil turned his attention to John. âAnd donât you think for one second that the speed with which you âcame downâ with the laryngitis isnât suspicious. I donât know what you've blackmailed Grandma with, but I will find out.â
Grandma sighed. âThereâs no blackmail, Virgil dear. John just spends too much time in orbit, and his immune system isnât up to spec.â
Virgil turned a dark look at John. âI am so revising your allowable flight hours,â he growled.
John shrugged and gave Virgil a look that was so clearly an âI dare youâ with promises of retribution that even Kayo stepped away from the line of fire.
The sound from the crowd hidden behind the curtain swelled to a roar, and Virgil paled and gulped.
âWhy canât you do it, Scott?â He asked, eyes a little wild. âYou can sign and a translator can speak?â
Scott frowned. âWeâve been over this, Virgil,â he signed. âJust having a Tracy on stage isnât enough, it needs to be a Tracyâs voice.â
Virgilâs shoulders fell. âWhy canât Grandma do it?â
âWrong image, kiddo. This is about the future. Having some old fossil banging on about the future isnât going to work.â
âYouâre not old Grandma,â Virgil mumbled.
âYouâre a good boy, Virgil. But yes I am, the hint is in the title: âGrandmaâ.â She tapped the underneath of his chin to lift his head. âIâm old enough to qualify for a new title: âGreat-Grandmaâ.â
âGordon wanted to do it,â Virgil was clutching at straws. âHe even re-wrote the speechâŠâ
John poked him sharply in the ribs, before signing, âHe was going to announce the re-working of all aerospace and astrospace manufacturing facilities into marine engineering facilities. By this time tomorrow weâd be lucky to have the shirts on our backs!â
Scott pushed him back. âGordon has a public profile that ⊠isnât compatible with this arena.â There was an apologetic expression on his face.
âIt will be okay, Virgil. The teleprompter is there, just read off what it says. Iâll be right next to you there. Weâre skipping the live Q&A in favour of a virtual one. The MC is making my apologies, and explaining the laryngitis. The stagelights are set to hide the audience. You wonât see them. Just go out there, and read what the teleprompter says.â
While Virgil was focused on Scottâs hands, Grandma had been rubbing soothing circles on Virgilâs back. And somewhere, amongst all that, without Virgil realising it, he was now standing on the edge of the stage, right by the curtain.
Virgil started as the huge yawning space between him and the podium stretched out into infinity. Somewhere, over the sound of the MCs slick professional patter setting out the agenda for the day he could hear the sounding of rustling, people moving, the occasional cough, the sound of breathing. Oh, god, he could hear them breathing. He couldnât do this. He couldnâtâŠ
A soft chime sounded in his discreet earpiece. âThunderbird Two, standby.â It was EOS, and the use of the callsign had Virgilâs breathing evening out, and his spine straightening.
âThunderbird Two, deploy.â
And with Scott leading the way, and acknowledging the audience, Virgil Tracy â Thunderbird Two â stepped onto the stage.
Notes:
Work has been eating both all my time, and apparently, all my brain. But Iâve finally got a piece written for Febuwhump!
The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the Original Series, the Movies (both Supermarionation and Live Action), or the Thunderbirds Are Go Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)
I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.
For the last three years I've gotten seasonal laryngitis nearly every spring and autumn when the temperature changes. Last year when my voice cut out in the spring, I decided to start learning ASL by watching videos on YouTube. This year I discovered my local community college has ASL classes. So I signed up.
I got my normal seasonal laryngitis in mid-September a couple weeks before classes started, but it was taking a lot longer than usual for my voice to recover. Like a lot longer. I had a scratchy raw voice for six weeks. Then in November I got Covid for the first time and it has completely demolished what remained of my voice. I haven't been able to speak above a whisper for ten weeks now. So it's a good thing that I've started learning ASL in a classroom setting, because I think I'm gonna have to know it moving forward.
In theory I have a referral from my doctor to see a specialist. But who knows when that will happen. I may already have permanent damage to my voice. I guess that's a bummer, but I honestly don't mind too much because it turns out I really fucking love sign language. It's like dancing, or casting a spell, or both. I wish I had learned it thirty years ago. Maybe then I wouldn't feel like a flailing child trying to use it in public now.
[Text in comic reads: My voice died again. It happens sometimes. So I decided to do something for the next time it goes out.]