Chapter 15.
Brains really needed to stop asking so many questions.
Of course, he always had this thought after asking a question.
Still, the fault didn't lie entirely with him. Most rational people would probably agree that the sight of four adults and one teenager sitting around a table staring dry-eyed at a massive stack of tacos was strange to say the least.
'What on earth are they up to this time?'
The scientist swallowed thickly, instantly recognising the expressions on the faces in front of him.
A competition was afoot.
Tracy style.
Word on the island's gossip grapevine was that Virgil's date with Kayo the previous evening hadn't gone too well. Brains wondered if that was the reason why the engineer was glowering at the taco pyramid as if it had just called him fat.
The scientist abruptly shook his head, snapping back to reality with a sharp jolt. He'd learnt from experience that 'wondering' in these kind of situations was a very bad idea. Looking for scientific logic (or any kind of logic) in a house where sibling rivalry was rife was like looking for gold in a duck's butt.
A facepalm. He was spending too much time around Gordon again.
Seriously though, were no rescues coming through? This had to be the third or fourth consecutive day that all five brothers had been stuck on the island. It was only a matter of time before they started climbing the walls. Or each other.
Clearly, that was where the tacos came in. Brains gave himself a silent pat on the back upon realising that he'd managed to work out the answer his original question with no outside input.
Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.
Abandoning his breakfast mission, the scientist turned on his heel and tiptoed back towards his lab, almost bumping into Sally as he ducked out of the kitchen.
"Good morning, Brains," the Tracy matriarch greeted, her eyes twinkling with their familiar warmth, "Where's your usual mug of herbal tea?"
Brains shook his head and raised a finger to his lips, gesturing with his eyes towards the kitchen table. Sally's own eyes widened somewhat when she caught sight of all five of her grandsons standing around said table, their expressions comically serious.
"Oh, not again," she groaned, adjusting her glasses with an impatient sigh, "They always do this when they've been housebound for too long. I do wish they'd start acting their ages."
"Do w-what?" Brains whispered, his curiosity getting the better of him.
Sally opened her mouth to reply, however was beaten by Scott's authoritative voice booming off the walls.
"Alright guys, rules are the same as always," the eldest began, bracing his hands on the table and staring at each of his brothers in turn, "I'll set the timer for twelve minutes. Whoever has the highest count at the end of those twelve minutes, wins. Everyone has a glass of milk in front of them, however no refills are permitted once the timer starts. I recommend drinking sparingly. Any questions?"
Predictably, Gordon stuck his hand in the air, "Can we steal from our rival's plates to hinder their progress?"
Scott shook his head, "No. All tacos must only be taken from the pile in the middle of the table. Nabbing from a competitor's plate with the intention of distracting them or slowing them down will result in instant disqualification. Any other questions?"
Four heads shook in almost perfect unison.
"Excellent," Scott pushed himself away from the table with an air of finality and yanked out his phone.
In the safety of the lounge stairwell, Brains succumbed to his confusion, "Are they about to have an eating competition?"
Sally sighed and shook her head, "It's one of the few things they're all evenly matched for. Age, experience, and intelligence are all irrelevant. A mouth and good set of chompers are the only pre-requisites."
"But still," Brains continued, unsatisfied with the answer he'd just received, "Don't you think it's a bit juvenile? And why now, of all days?"
A knowing smile was offered, "I think they're feeling a bit sore because of the scoring system Lady Penelope and Kayo have been subjecting them to. Those boys have mocked and sabotaged each other more over the past few days than they usually do in a month. Tensions are running high with the lack of rescues and egos are bruised. Plus, nothing screams, 'I'm a man!' quite like a good old fashioned binge eating contest. At least it'll distract them from sharpening their claws on each other for a bit."
"I didn't realise eating excessive amounts of food was a valid way of r-reclaiming lost masculinity," Brains commented, his tone as dry as sawdust.
Sally snorted and slapped the scientist on the back, "Clearly, you haven't grown up with siblings."
"Still, I consider it to be a waste of valuable time and a reflection of f-fragile self-esteem. I will be having words with Kayo about the negative influence she's having on the boy's behaviour," Brains sniffed, jolting slightly at the unexpected contact and straightening his glasses with a small cough.
"You'll have to wait until she gets home," Sally informed, "She was called back to Argentina to follow up on the case she was investigating there a couple of days ago and probably won't be back until tomorrow."
Brains rolled his eyes in irritation. It was clearly no coincidence that the brothers had decided to stage their silly little competition while Kayo was out of the house.
"My money is on G-Gordon," the scientist announced, turning on his heel and setting a course for his lab, "That boy has an appetite that could rival a horse."
"You wanna put your money where your mouth is?" Sally challenged, planting her hands on her hips, "I'm putting fifty bucks down on Virgil."
Brains felt a sigh travel up his throat. He wasn't a gambling man, but was confident in his predictions and had to protect what little existed of his own manly pride.
"Fifty bucks that Gordon wins," he confirmed. To his horror, Sally spat on her hand before subjecting him to the most vigorous (and unhygienic) handshake he'd ever had the misfortune of experiencing.
"It's a deal, kid."
-x-
Virgil set his jaw and began piling tacos onto his plate, refusing to look any of his brothers in the eye.
They were the enemy.
His pride was in tatters, and that had everything to do with what he'd returned home to the previous evening.
After his hideously romantic gondola ride had crashed and burnt (or crashed and splashed in his case), the engineer had decided to abort the date completely and return home. It wasn't like he would have be able to enjoy the rest of the evening in sopping wet clothes anyway. The breeze had been evil to say the least.
After the painfully silent flight back to Tracy Island (during which Virgil had tried and failed to dry himself with Thunderbird Two's air conditioning), he'd dumped the green behemoth in the hanger and ushered Kayo upstairs with none of the urbane charm he'd exhibited prior to their departure.
Suspicion had begun to nag at him when he'd staggered into the lounge and been greeted with the sight of just John and Alan. Gordon and Scott had apparently been absent for most of the evening, or so they'd reported. John himself had dismissed Virgil's scepticism with a wave of the hand and politely asked how the evening had gone. On reflection, the redhead had done a truly commendable job of ignoring the canal smell that had managed to follow his second brother all the way home.
Alan, smug in the knowledge that his date had gone considerably better than both John and Virgil's combined (despite his blistered derriere), had acted like a sports commentator and offered a variety of olfactory diagnoses for Virgil's predicament, ranging from 'wet dog' and 'damp donkey' to perhaps the most insulting of all, 'Gordon's socks'.
Unwilling to listen to his brother's stupid nasally taunts, Virgil had sharply excused himself and retreated to the sanctuary of his bedroom, eager for a hot shower and some dry clothes.
-x-
The eyepatch hanging from Virgil's doorknob should have warned him that something was amiss, but the stench of the canal was overpowering and the flight home had been long.
One experimental tug on the eyepatch revealed the massive bucket of ice water suspended above his bedroom door, connected to said eyepatch by an almost invisible line of string. The engineer's rescue-honed senses exploded into motion and he managed to throw himself out of the way just in time, the contents of the bucket splashing across the floor.
Suitably alarmed, Virgil inched his bedroom door open and activated every available source of light, his caramel eyes scanning for any further traps. If Gordon was indeed the one responsible, it was highly unlikely that he would have stopped at just the classic bucket over the door trick.
The previous encounter still fresh in his mind, Virgil concentrated his efforts on examining the ceiling for any more suspended containers, empty or otherwise. Of course, his preoccupation with all things skyward left him hideously vulnerable to all things low-lying.
The string trap that was inconspicuously lying in wait two strides into the room (close enough to guarantee results, but far enough in to foster a false sense of security) made itself known to Virgil with a faceplant that was one hundred percent dignified. Peeling his face off the floor with a groan, the engineer failed to notice the airhorn attached to his bedside table, which rather conveniently went off as soon as he drew eye-level with it.
The sound damn near burst Virgil's eardrums, his head rattling as he hastily grabbed the stupid thing and stamped on it until it fell silent. Unfortunately, he once again failed to notice the near invisible line of string that was connecting the mutilated airhorn to a second bucket of ice water, this one ingeniously hidden behind the curtains.
In a state of airhorn-induced disorientation, Virgil could only clench his teeth as the contents emptied over him, treating him to his second freezing dunk of the evening.
Just as the second Tracy thought his day couldn't get any worse, fate proved him wrong.
Or rather, a certain brother wearing too much blue did.
Scott emerged triumphantly from the closest like a well-groomed gladiator, his long legs carrying him across the room in two strides. With a grin that met the dictionary definition for 'shit-eating', he crouched down next to his floored brother, a third piece of string clasped in his hand.
"There can only be one alpha in this house," Scott announced, wrinkling his nose slightly when he got a whiff of 'Eau de Venice de Canal', "Surrender now, or you'll be the same colour as Thunderbird Four."
Virgil followed the line of string in Scott's hand up to the ceiling, blinking water out of his eyes as he tried to locate the weapon his brother was threatening him with. After a few seconds of fruitless searching, he spied a concealed tub of yellow paint in his room's overhead light, expertly hidden by the warm glow of the lightbulb.
Scott yanked on the string for emphasis, smirking when Virgil tried to back-shuffle out of the blast zone, "You can challenge the other three until your heart's content, but don't try your smart stuff with me. The next time you try and show me up, I'll send your mattress into orbit. We clear?"
Virgil groaned and gave a small nod.
Scott couldn't resist rubbing salt in the wound, "What was that, Virg?" he drawled, cupping a hand around his ear as he leant in closer.
"Clear," Virgil muttered, resisting the urge to smack his speed demon of a brother. Unfortunately, he'd reached the point where he was quite willing to exchange a healthy portion of his pride for use of the shower.
Scott beamed and clicked his fingers. On cue, Gordon also materialised out of the closet, his legs tangled in a pair of Virgil's jeans.
"You can remove the paint trap," Scott ordered, his grin increasing tenfold as he took in the sight of Virgil lying sprawled on his back in the middle of a rather large puddle.
Gordon planted one hand on his hip and held the other out, palm side up, "My payment, if you please?"
Scott sighed and fished four celery crunch bars out of his back pocket, "Here. I don't tip, so don't bother asking."
Gordon grumbled something involving the word 'cheapskate', before standing on Virgil's bed to remove the paint container, one of his prizes lodged firmly in his mouth.
Virgil heaved himself to his feet with a loud squelching sound, cringing when Gordon gagged and nearly dropped the paint can, "Dude! You smell like low tide! What on earth did you and Kayo get up to?"
The engineer ignored his younger brother and marched off down the hall towards the bathroom, his pace quickening when he spied Scott several feet ahead of him. With all the maturity of a six year old, Virgil adjusted his course slightly and roughly slammed his shoulder into Scott's as he thundered past, a smidgen of satisfaction glowing in his chest when he heard the eldest cough from the impact.
"Never forget, Virg," Scott wheezed, his face still playing host to the same shit-eating grin from earlier, "I always get off Scott-free!"
Virgil's glow of satisfaction was abruptly snuffed out by his brother's silver-tongued statement. Hissing with frustration, he slammed the bathroom door shut, snatched a clean towel, and tried desperately to focus on the very thing he'd been dreaming about for the past three hours.
A steaming hot shower.
In an effort to unwind, the second brother cranked the hot water up as far as it would go, failing once again to learn from his mistakes and only noticing the thin line of string connecting the temperature dial to the massive bucket of suspended fish innards when it was regrettably too late.
Scott smiled to himself as a scream ripped through the house.
He'd go back on his word and tip Gordon handsomely if he agreed to help Virgil unblock the drain.