Noon
It was Saturday. And, as unfortunate as it was, Francesca was the one who decided sleeping in until noon was too long. She opened the door to Cecil's room, and "awed."
Maggie was asleep in his arms, lying beside her father. Biological father. Francesca still couldn't believe she was an aunt! Cecil had one arm wrapped around the baby, the other cradling her head to his chest. Francesca almost felt guilty about waking them. And, technically, it was his day off . . .
She slipped back out, leaving them. The house was eerily silent, now that Roberto and Gino had left. She decided to ready their lunch for when they woke.
Cecil awoke with a yawn, rubbing his eyes. Maggie stirred with the pressure taken off.
So peaceful.
He got up without waking her, and went out to the dining/living room. Francesca was there, setting out food.
"Shouldn't it be breakfast?"
"Well, you slept in until over noon, so I assumed it was lunch time."
"Oh. What's for lunch then?"
"Whatever's on the table."
He smiled sweetly. "It's nice to know my sister-in-law loves me so."
She started walking into the kitchen and called over her shoulder, "Bite me!"
He smirked. Their relationship worked in a strange way. He sat down, choosing food.
Maggie came out, yawning.
"Good afternoon, sunshine."
"Bite me." She sat down, getting a plate.
"Jeez, both of you women love me today."
Francesca came back in, smiling, "Screw you."
"Watch your language in front of the baby!"
Maggie spat out her food. "I'm not a baby! I'm five years old!"
Both adults spat out their food. "WHAT?!"
(I'm sorry to keep throwing these things at you, but a friend and I found some issues with the ages that are too big to not be dealt with. Aside from the whole "Frank Grimes is alive" thing. But this is a Halloween thriller, and ages need to be fixed. Explanation below: )
"Oh. You thought I was one. Well, if I were, how could Gino be older than me if I were born first? And how could I be one if Maris and Neil died five years ago, and Mo—Marge had me about a year after? And I can't stay a baby forever, you know. Sooner or later I have to age."*
"O-oh."
"Si, that would indeed make sense." She turned to Cecil, "How did you not think of that?"
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I have lost track of the year from prison."
"That isn't any kind of excuse!"
"It's good enough for you! Why, what would I know? I'm not from here."
"I have never used that against you! Snake and Mother used that once two years ago, and our lives have been a living hell since!" He threw up his hands.
"Oh, go cry about your family!"
He gasped. "You do not talk about Maris and Neil that way!"
"And you shouldn't tell Gino Bart Simpson is back to haunt him!"
Maggie sighed, grabbed her plateful of food, and went to her room.
Finally, NOW I get to be lazy:
1:37 PM, Library
"No no no, that is NOT for smoking! It would be much appreciated if you stop smoking our library books, Mr. Simpson!"
Abe Simpson threw his hands in the air. "Well, cigarettes cost $7.97 at the store! Why, I can still remember when they were simply handed out on the street by Teddy Roosevelt to young kids. He'd tell us, "watch your step, you buncha' ungrateful heathens! I'm trying to walk here!" Why can't you be Teddy Roosevelt? I'm still in denial about my entire family's murder, thank you very much! First I lost my true love on her birthday, then Homer's mother, then I lost that stray dog nobody else saw, and then my entire family crumbled right under my nose!"
Bob stood there, listening patiently. He had to when he was being elected for the mayor here, and now he just felt it proper to listen to a broken-hearted old man's losses.
"-And then Homer appeared in one dream, and we shared chicken wings. Then, in another, Bart appeared and lit my shoes on fire. Lisa put em' out—she was always the smart-ass one. And then, just last night," He put his hands on Bob's shoulders, "Marge came to warn you."
"Er—what now?"
Abe's eyes were wide when he told Bob this, "She said to tell you that Frank Grimes is the living dead! To warn you about your family, they're in terrible danger!" His eyes went back to normal size, "And somethin' about blood being shed on your hands, and something about a master. Oh, and then she warned me about after I tell you this and leave the library, I'd step in dog leavings."
"Umm . . ." Bob took Abe's hands off and stepped back. "Sir, are you on some sort of medication? Or are you just crazy?"
"A little from column A, a little from column B. She also told me that if you didn't believe me, I should walk outside. So have a nice day!"
Bob shuddered, and went to the front desk to check on Gino. Suddenly, he heard a cry from outside:
"Damn dogs! Why doesn't anyone pick up their crap?! Now I'll have ta' get my shoes wet and wash them off with the hose."
Bob raised an eye, but said nothing. The man had lost whatever sense he had left when his family died; what he said meant nothing. Bob understood that. It happened to Cecil, obviously. The man was psycho as Abe, possibly more. Always plotting new ways to kill Lisa, trying to get Bob in trouble with the prison guards, fighting him for the top bunk . . . . psycho.
"Oh, Cecil. Where did the good days go?" Francesca took another sip of wine.
He giggled. "I dunno. My good days went as soon as my wife and son died in that fire." He finished his glass, and poured himself another.
"My good days went as soon as the Simpsons exposed my Roberto. Poor Roberto . . ."
He spit-took the wine. "Poor Roberto?! Do you realize what he did to me when we were kids?!"
"No, but I know what he did to me in the bedroom . . . and how h-*hiccup* he's raised Gino."
"Oh. Well, I've heard from several women around here about how good a father he is . . . or was it about the bedroom thing? No," He grinned lop-sided, "it was the father thingie. He isn't that good with *hic* women."
"You should see him in the bedroom . . . with Gino. They always have so much fun playing with actual childhood toys, not knives. Gino has re-disovered his child side, and your daughter has helped him much with that. My son isn't going to be a homicidal maniac when he grows up! Do you think that is actually a career choice?"
Cecil sighed, picking up a knife. "You know what? You're my sister-in-law. We're family, we have a thing."
"I suppose. *hic* I trusted you with Gino when we were seperated in prison."
"Exactly. See? So I can trust you with this. Before I met Maggie, like, before Bob brought him—er, her here, I used to think about cutting me out of your misery . . ."
Francesca gasped.
"Just going into the attic and killing those damn rats. Making use out of myself."
She sighed with relief. "You know-a what? I thought you were going to say you were going to kill yourself!"
"Huh? No, I stopped considering suicide when we got out of jail."
"Oh. You were sad in jail?"
"Not just sad, I was mad." He began to giggle uncontrolably. "I made a funny rhyme!"
She began to laugh too. "You laugh very strangly! It is like you are being tickled."
He stopped. "No, I'm just drunk as hell. But I *hic* am sensitive." He chuckled.
She set down her glass. "We are going to go out very fast after this."
"Out the window?"
"To sleep." She grinned, jamming her fingers into Cecil's side.
He yelped, and jumped off the chair. "Don't do that! I'm *hic* ticklish and drunk!"
Laughter erupted from his throat as her delicate fingers wiggled their way through his ribs and belly and tickled him until he couldn't breath or think straight. He collapsed on the floor, a giggling mess.
Maggie came out holding an empty water cup. She stopped, staring at the sight before her. "Uh . . ."
Keep walking. Not too close.
She walked past them to the kitchen.
They drunk or something?
When Maggie came back, she smiled and said, "His sensitive area's under the pits." And she went into the bedroom.
"Papa?"
Gino spun past Bob on the wheeled plush chair.
"Papa?" He spun back.
"Papaaaaa?" He spun back again.
"Yes, Gino?" Bob set down the book he was reading.
"When are we leaving?"
"You know, if you hate it here, then don't come with me. We leave in another two—scratch that. It's our lunch break, you can stay home if you like. We need to go there anyway."
"Very much, si."
Bob carried Gino through the front door, stopping as soon as they saw Francesca and Cecil.
"Uh. Francesca? Cecil?!"
Francesca was no longer tickling Cecil, but was reading to him. He had his head on her lap. They were reading The Blackstone Chronicles by John Saul. Something Bob didn't think either one of them would ever read, much less own.
They looked up. Francesca grinned, and got up, swaying as she walked. "Roberto! *hic*" She draped her arm around his shoulders, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
Cecil got up, chuckling and trying not to fall. "Roberto! *hic* Bobby!"
Bob cocked an eye. "Are you two drunk?"
"As hell." They said together.
He let Gino down, "Yes . . . Gino, go play with-"
Francesca kissed him on the lips as Maggie came in and saw them. She shrugged, grabbed Gino by the shoulders, and kissed him on the lips.
The poor boy, since this was his first kiss, had no idea how to respond. He didn't have to, Bob peeled himself off of Francesca and pulled the toddlers apart.
"Oh, really now! We aren't in Shelbyville, you two!"
"Cecil and Auntie Francesca are drunk!" Maggie accused.
"Yes, we've established-" Francesca kissed him again. He pulled back, "Will you stop kissing me?! This isn't-"
Cecil kissed him. He pulled back, leaving Bob paralized. Cecil shrugged. "Eh. Not as good as Maris was. You didn't kiss back, that's your problem." He swayed into his bedroom, shutting the door and giggling.
Bob started sputtering, and ran into the kitchen to rinse out his mouth. Maggie and Gino went into her room. Francesca passed out on the couch.
I know, I'm wrong. But this was fun to write out, so . . . don't judge me!
*- Yeah Simpsons producers! Bart has passed the fourth grade six times already (or three), each child has had at least two birthdays by now, and they won't keep Homer and Marge's ages straight! By now, officially, everyone should be around twenty/thirty years old, and it drives you insane when you're wrting a story about this!