So while I'm still working out the plot to my first 'trio' story, I decided they needed one more go with the team. Hope you enjoy it, as far as it goes...
General Disclaimer: The 'trio' (Chase, Oliver, and Kyle) as well as the people in the Chinese embassy and Josh Hollenbeck, is mine. The other well-known characters, well...not so much.
The red parlor walls hung heavy with wonder.
Seven men stared at these bright walls; stared at each other, stared at a teak door that lay as a barrier to the activity inside.
The door creaked open, and a small woman in a white shift hurried through the room towards the hall. The anxiety was building.
"What's going on in there?" one of the men asked, the worry evident in his thick voice. "I should go in…"
The other six held him back from the door. "You don't want to be in there, trust me," another said, speaking from experience. "I had three broken fingers when I did…"
The man settled down again, and took up pacing across the large room, nearly wearing a hole in the dark red carpet. A tall glass-paneled liquor cabinet stood on the opposite wall, with large decanters of wine and other spirits standing at the ready.
There was scream, then a low moan.
"Sounds bad," one of the men said.
The others were about to agree when the small woman reappeared, laden down with fresh linens and a small silver bowl. Another woman, this one short and squat with a traditional dress, carried in a large pitcher of water.
"What's that for?" the man with the thick voice asked.
The serving woman said something, but they were not understood. Before they could be asked a second time, they disappeared behind the teak door, closing it tightly behind them.
"This is insane," the thick-voiced man said. "She should be in a hospital…"
"Well, we can't exactly get to one now, can we?" an older gentleman said, his point made without being unkind about it.
"This whole thing is insane," the thick-voiced man said, waving his hands around the room. "None of you did what they say, I know this…"
"And we're trying to prove that," a younger man said, his voice trying to reassure the man. "They're doing all they can in there. I wish things were different too, but…"
"My mother is a very traditional Chinese woman," another young man said, almost apologetically. "Even my father was not allowed in when it was his time to worry."
"What would it hurt, just to go in? Just to see?"
"It would be immodest," another accented voice said, his English strong. "The result is what's best. You must believe this." The encouraging smile on the old man's face was hard to refuse.
"I remember my father telling me about another day," the thick-voiced man said, his eyes focusing on a spot in the floor. "He said there was no happier man in the Quarter, that day. Went down to every bar on Bourbon Street and bought rounds. Had so many cigars sitting on his desk the next morning it took him a year just to get through half of 'em."
"My mother said that my father bought twenty cases of the best wine in New York and gave it away by the bottle," the gentleman said. "Nearly broke him, but it was his first."
There was another shout, and then a striking sound, and then a cry. Seven ears perked up, wondering.
Just then a dark-haired woman hurried out. She barely looked at the men who were waiting with bated breath. She strode to the liquor cabinet, pulled out a portable service for six, pulled out the largest bottle in the cabinet, uncorked it, poured two single shots, gave one to the thick-voiced man, and proceeded to down hers in one gulp.
"Wow," she said as soon as she swallowed. Her voice was strangled as she fought against the strong taste of the wine. She poured another, then five more, then passed them out as she knocked back one more.
"Olivia Larkin LaMontaigne," she squeaked as she tried to swallow the second dose. "Nine pounds, eleven ounces, twenty-seven inches long, and screaming like a banshee. Congratulations, Will."
More congratulations spread as the proud father took in the news from a very unlikely source. "A daughter?" he said.
Just then the teak door opened. A proper looking Chinese woman smiled as she addressed the room full of expectant men. "She is ready," the woman said, her voice accented but clear.
The dark-haired woman sat in a parlor chair as the seven men walked inside, laying eyes on the first bright spot in a world full of trouble. She poured herself a glass of water—she only drank two shots for celebration purposes—and began to worry.
How was she going to get them out of this one?