Hi-ho, faithful followers! It’s Friday and you know what that means! That’s right, the Renaissance Faire is tomorrow and Yours Truly shall be tripping on over to enjoy a weekend of eating turkey legs, wearing funny hats and saying, “Forsooth!” Which is pretty much every weekend for me, come to think of it. And darn near every weekday…
Anyhoo, as a consequence of Friday e’en, Saturday morn must forsooth follow, and with it, verily, another chapter of mine epic fanfiction, Everything Is All Right, Part Three: Children of Mammon. Hast thou yet cracked yonder digital tome? Cuz if not, fie upon thee, thou impertinent dewberry! Thou gob-bellied onion! Thou pribbling, ill-pated pancake!
Right. So the new chapter’s up and if you want to read it, you can find it safely ensconced in the care of the good folks at fanfiction.net and archiveofourown.org. In the meantime, here is but a small sampling of my wares. Enjoy! I’ll see you at the faire, anon!
Bonnie did not consciously count the seconds that Ana was gone, but in spite of his determination not to be a jealous dick, he could not help but note that Foxy left with Ana about a quarter after ten and did not come back with her until half past two in the freaking morning.
“That was a long shower,” Bonnie said as Foxy shrugged the plastic sheets aside and ducked through, carrying Ana, half-naked and sound asleep, in his arms. “What the h-h—HI THERE!—hell are you wearing-ing-ing?”
“Her jeans. Aye, that’s right, I got in her p-p-pants first. Eat yer heart-t-t out,” Foxy growled cheerily, switching on his eyes to scan the room and nodding when Chica waved. “Freddy around-d-d?”
A grunt from the South Hall was his answer and then Freddy switched on his own eyes and came out of the dark, watching as Foxy knelt down beside the table and tucked Ana away. “IS. SHE. SLEEPING.”
“Eh, sleep may b-b-be a light word for it,” said Foxy, leaning up against the wall. “She’s got t-t-three joints and half a bottle o’ rum in her. She’s out-t-t. Wouldn’t wake for it even if the horns o’ judgment were to blow out’n her ass.”
“You are such-ch-ch a charmer,” Bonnie muttered, putting his guitar aside and struggling up onto his feet. He was walking much better these days since Ana had worked on his knees, but getting up and down was still hard. “Did she t-t-talk?”
“Oh aye. Three joints and half a b-b—BOTTLE OF RUM, didn’t I say? After a certain p-p-point, I couldn’t shut her up.”
Before Bonnie could ask what was wrong, his knee gave out and he dropped stiff-legged back onto the stage.
Grumbling, Freddy crossed the room in long, impatient strides to pick him up like a child and thump him on his feet. “WE’RE. NOT. TALKING. HERE,” he said and pointed at the hall. “BONNIE. STAY. AND. WATCH. HER.”
“The hell I will.”
Freddy, already walking away, turned around. “BONNIE. I. HAVE. SPENT. ALL. DAY. CHASING. HER. AROUND. THIS. BUILDING. AND. I. AM. NOT. IN. THE.” He paused, clicking and scowling. “MOO. TO. LISTEN. TO. YOU. TELL. ME. NOTHING. IS. WRONG.”
“Freddy,” Bonnie replied, mimicking his tone with savage accuracy, “I spent at least-t-t three hours off and on holding her while she c-cr-cried. I don’t need-d-d you to tell me something-ing-ing’s wrong. You want her watched-d-d? You watch her. I’m going t-t-to hear this.”
Before Freddy could answer, Foxy quietly said, “I think-k-k we all need to hear this, Fred. Ye don’t want to do it-t-t here, let’s move on, but let’s do it quick-k-k and get on with it.”
Freddy looked back and forth between them for a long minute, then went over to the table and looked beneath it for an even longer minute, but at the end of it, the glaring angle went out of his eyelids. He picked Ana’s limp arm up and tucked it next to her on the mattress, rested his hand briefly on her head, then straightened and let the curtain fall. “ALL RIGHT,” he said. “THE QUIET ROOM. GO.”
They went, Chica toddling on ahead to hold the plastic open for those of them with ears. Before he followed, Foxy picked up Ana’s duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder.
“What are you d-d-doing with that?” Bonnie asked.
“Ye’ll know soon enough, mate.” Foxy attempted to scrape the loose stack of papers Ana had taken off the lobby wall together, then gave up and gestured at it. “Get these for me, would-d-d ye?”
Bonnie obeyed, looking them over in confusion as he did so. Happy kids. Freddy on stage. Chica with a birthday cake. Him with his guitar. Lots of newspaper articles, but only the ones gushing over the various openings and special events. Silly stuff, and all of it ten or twenty or even forty years old. He couldn’t see anything Ana would want to keep, much less Foxy.
“What are these for?” he asked.
“For Freddy,” said Foxy. “Might not-t-t need ‘em, but I likes to be prepared and Freddy b-b-believes more in what he sees than what-t-t he feels.”
“Prepared-d-d for what?”
“Look, mate. I know it ain’t-t-t in yer nature, but I need ye to t-t-trust me. We’re on the—PORT SIDE—same side, remember?”
“Then let-t-t me do the talking here, eh?” Foxy gave whatever was in the duffel bag a grim sort of pat and started walking. “It’s apt to g-g-get pricklish.”