"You guys," Sena said, walking into the kitchen, "I got the flamethro—"
What in tarnation?
Blood. Blood was everywhere.
She looked down. Kisaragi's cadaverous body was in a corner.
She looked up. Tetsuma held a bloody knife and looked at her, cross-eyed.
Sena promptly fainted.
"I-it was terrible!" Bud wailed, burying his handsome face in his hands. "It was like I was fucking mind raped! No, I was mind raped!"
"Need to destroy memory," Tatanka chanted in a monotone, banging his head against the wall repeatedly.
Clifford went stiff when they explained to him what they had witnessed. He almost pitied the poor fools, but Clifford D. Lewis was not the man to go soft all because of an unfortunate event. He sighed and stood up. "Get over it, you two," he commanded. "It's not as if you'll see it again."
The two gave him deadpanned stares.
"…What?"
"Uh, Cliff, I know that you just woke up so I'll fill ya in, okay?" Bud said cheerfully, slinging an arm around his neck. Clifford willed himself not to cringe. He did not trust that tone, not at all. Whenever Bud Walker uses that tone, it means something bad was about to happen.
"I don't think I want to know," the blonde said coolly, abstracting the offending arm.
"No, Clifford. I really think you should hear this one out," Tatanka said gravely.
Clifford looked at him, mildly surprised. Normally the Native American wasn't one to come into terms with Bud. No way. He was far too pragmatic than to respond to the buffoon's, well, buffoonery. After all, who would put up with Bud's pointless chatter about being a top-rate superstar and getting all the sexy celebrities from Hollywood?
However….
Could Bud really have something worth saying? If Tatanka suggested that Clifford should listen, then it must be important. So the quarterback folded his arms and leaned against the wall, warranting Bud to continue.
"This place is Wonderland," Bud said with all seriousness.
Clifford would have giggled. Really. He would have.
"Is that so," he said sardonically
The receiver glared at him. "I'm serious! Plus Panther's grandma is here, and she's a whackjob!"
Clifford believed that. The elderly woman did march around only donning lingerie that was not made to be worn by her…wrinkly attributes. It was a mental picture that he did not need to conjure. But even so, the excuse bypassed him, so he arched a brow.
"What Bud is trying to say is that ever since we took refuge here, things…have been odd as you and Mr. Don have been out of commission," Tatanka explained.
Clifford snorted. "So it's not literally Wonderland?" he asked with dry amusement.
"Hey, I'm capable of using metaphors," Bud snapped.
"Bud, no you can't. What you said was absolutely pitiful. I suggest that you should stop trying to go Cathy Cassidy on me."
Bud winced. "Cheap-shot," he grumbled.
Clifford regarded Tatanka with a nod. "Go on."
"Where should I begin?" Tatanka murmured. "Well, first off, if Panther's grandmother offers you porridge, decline."
"Why?"
"Just do it."
Clifford had bustled to Tatanka and Bud to help them…What was it? "Knock some sense into them"? Ah, yes, that was what he said. Anyway, it was awfully nice of the older boy to do so. Panther took it to himself to drag the flamethrower to the kitchen, but when he discovered that the material was unbelievably heavy without another person assisting, he wasn't sure what to do. He attempted to will all his strength into heaving the thing, but it wouldn't budge!
The dark-skinned boy had used his arm as a buttress as he landed his chin atop his palm, his elbow resting on the flamethrower. He was going to wait for the blonde to return so that he may be able to move the object, but it had been at least fifteen minutes since he last left!
Maybe what Tatanka and Bud were, well, suffering from was cardinal. It seemed so. Bud was rocking himself back and forth in a corner, muttering something. And when Tatanka woke up, he had this wide-eyed look that read traumatized. Well, when Panther was scolding Granny of farting in front of guests, he did hear a thump, but he didn't think that it was Tatanka fainting.
Curious as to why he would faint at such a time.
As time ticked away, Panther grew bored. Then he remembered the medal he received from the football mediators. Since he was part of the Pentagram and that the American team won, he was given a golden coin stamped with an intricate design and words titled to the champion of the football national game.
Panther burnished the brooch with his sleeve, and smiled in satisfaction when the surface glinted sparklingly.
"If only Mom and Dad were still here."
"So let me get this straight. Panther's grandmother is mental and goes around doing absurd things."
Tatanka and Bud nodded.
"Panther doesn't even notice; he just takes this as amusing quirks."
They nodded again.
Clifford looked warily at the bonfire—yeah, the two boys explained to him about that too. He continued, "There's a farm in the basement and the lady just chops up the animals even though they belong to her friend."
"And we hold suspicion that the loony made her into porridge," Bud added.
"Right." He sighed. "And then suddenly the Japanese intrudes with that—" he pointed at the sled protruding through the walls "and this Jo person starts making edible meals for us."
"Good news: He's not making rotten sushi," Bud informed.
Tatanka smacked him upside the head.
"Yowch! What the hell was that for?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"Why a flamethrower?" Clifford blurted.
"What?"
"Never mind."
Bud suddenly went pale.
"What's wrong?" the Native American asked.
"I just envision the lady swinging our cartilage and putting our arteries into her pot of porridge."
"Yeah, we need to get out of here." Definitely.
"We should." Clifford rubbed his chin in thought. "But first we'll need to wake Mr. Don up."
Bud frowned. "Well, can't we just ditch the guy?"
The two gave him looks. "Are you crazy? Leave him with that woman?"
"I never liked him in the first place. I vouch that either of you fellas never liked him too."
Tatanka and Clifford exchanged glances. They couldn't deny what was true. How could anyone tolerate that monstrous man with an ego that could put Zeus to shame?
The receiver kept ranting. "And why the hell do we refer him as Mr. Don? Why not just plain ole Donald?"
"He wanted us to call him that," Tatanka said.
"Yeah, but you don't hear him calling us by whatever we want to be called. I tell him to call me Bud, he calls me brat. And we're the same age!"
"Sometimes I suspect that he repeated a couple grades," Clifford admitted. "Have you seen his wrinkles?"
"Isn't that the cause of premature drinking?" Tatanka said. "I mean, he does consume more than he should."
"I swear, that guy is a creature found in the depths of a swamp. No matter how much he drinks, he doesn't get alcohol poisoning."
"Even his dad can't control him," Bud said. "Like, for example, the freakish tattoo on his face."
"How do you know that his father forbid him from getting one?" Tatanka asked.
"Remember when I told you about how I went to the White House when I was a sophomore?"
The two nodded.
"And when Oberman was still a governor?"
They nodded again.
"He was there with his son, and I happened to get lost. So as I was trying to find my class, I overheard them arguing about Donald doing whatever he wanted to do."
"Ugh, he's spoiled to the core," Clifford spat with disgust.
"That's why we should ditch him!"
"But then again, Donald would skin us alive if he ever figured that we left him," Tatanka mused.
"What, scared of big fatty Donny?" Bud taunted.
"You do realize that he's the President's son, right?" he said, raising a brow.
Bud winced. "Good point."
"That guy should never be above law," Clifford said, shaking his head. "He abuses the power too much."
They agreed.
Unknown to anyone, Donald Oberman woke up with a sneeze.
