... great

"Swear to God, that tux made my eyes bleed," Breda grumped on Monday. Havoc laughed.

"Sparkles strikes again with a neon-orange suit. Sounds like the title of a bad thriller," Farman commented.

"You're lucky, you were on the other side of the room," Fury retorted. The mild-mannered youngster had gotten quite sour after being enveloped in an over-enthusiastic hug by the orange-clad major. He was still rubbing at his eyes.

"Gee, here I was, hoping I was drunk," Havoc said, cheerfully stubbing out a cigarette. "Guess not."

"If you were drunk, I'd bet that it would have hurt even more," Fury grumbled sourly.

"Now just imagine if you were up close and personal and drunk."

"That'd be enough to turn me sober and make me stop drinking altogether."

Breda looked around. "Where's Hawkeye?"

"On leave." The three older men looked at each other. Scary, manic grins spread across their faces.

Cain Fury twigged almost immediately onto the fact that they were planning something evil. With a capital 'E' and enthusiastically pounded typewriter keys. He began to back away.

"I'm not too out-of-practice," Havoc said, stretching. "Granted, it's been a while, but I can probably pull off a few good ones..."

"I think I have some glue in my desk drawer," Breda added helpfully, trying to look innocent.

Yes, Cain my boy, now would be a good time to grab a phone and dial the... wait, these goons are the ones that answer! ARGH.

Havoc's eyes lidded dangerously. "Rubber bands?"

"Check."

"Tape?"

"Of course."

"A deck of cards?"

"Yup."

"And a balloon?"

"For some reason, yes."