Smoke Gets in Your Eyes
By
E. S. Young
Chapter Forty-One: Funny Honey
Well, it looks as though I won't be getting this done before the New Year hits. Oh well. It's not my fault this thing's so darn long. It's partially my fault, yes, but blame can also be placed on Sands for being so stubborn and callous, same thing goes for Lyn and pretty much everyone else cuz they all have several issues to be dealt with. But, really, it all comes down to me and my love of characterization, description, and plot. What can I say, I like plot. Plot is good with toast ;D But before I launch into this chapter, I would like to note that this title is from the musical Chicago and that – and I believe I mentioned this earlier – I think it suits Lyn and Liam's past and current relationship very well. u.u
Look there he goes.
Isn't he dreamy?
Monsieur Gaston,
Oh he's so cute!
Geh . . . hardly . . . Lynné spat, scrutinizing her the hulking brut before her. He seemed to be made of nothing but muscle, all – she estimated – two hundred and fifty-eight pounds of him. She saw the pulsing of his well-toned arms beneath the expensive charcoal gray suit he wore, threatening to tear the plum colored shirt underneath the suit. His greasy hair glistened from the pomade he had used to slick it back. Utterly revolted, Lynné fought the urge to wrinkle her nose as Gaston leered at her, showing a single golden spot on his upper row of teeth.
Christ, all he needs is a big, feathered hat and a cane and he's all set. Aside from that, he's totally pimin', baby.
Lynné had to hand it to the voice. When it was right, it was right.
"Liam, what on Earth –" Zebbidy was abruptly cut off when the young man cried out,
"Lynné's been kidnapped!"
His face was taunt with fear and urgency. Several strands of his dark blonde hair had escaped the secure ponytail that normally held them back, his once crisp powder blue shirt was wrinkled and half unbuttoned. In the months she had spent with him, Zebbidy had never known neat-freak Liam to look so disheveled. It was so unlike him to allow himself to be seen in such an unkempt state, and that troubled her.
"Easy, boy," Sands told him calmly, taking care as he lowered himself onto the couch. "When you say kidnapped, I assume you mean by the Poissons?"
Liam nodded vigorously.
"I was there when they grabbed her."
"Grabbed her," Sands repeated, observing the other agent over steepled fingers.
"Yes," Liam stressed, looking grave. "We were at the house, they jumped me, drugged Lynné, grabbed Joséphine –"
"They have Joséphine?" Zebbidy clasped a hand over her mouth in horror. Instantly her mind became flooded with unused sympathy. And now it would be expressed for the little girl. Zebbidy knew of Joséphine's loathing for Édouard and his family, and she couldn't blame her in the least. Poisson was a despicable tyrant, one who was incapable of love in any shape or form. He had a family because he would not trust anyone else to continue his business. He made sure all of his relatives (and especially his heirs) lived comfortable lifestyles with extravagant homes, beautiful clothes, and more money than they knew what to do with. But he also disciplined his children, making sure they didn't become too spoiled and take all of their possessions for granted by taking several of said items away. For good, sometimes. Her long fingers recoiled into her palms, reducing her hands into tightly clenched fists. She twitched her nose, ashamed that she had that kind of knowledge about Édouard Poisson.
"And you're absolutely positive it was Poisson?" Sands was saying, his voice still calm, almost disbelieving.
"Who else could it be!?" Liam demanded to know, suddenly livid, his face lit with anger and frustration.
"How did you get away?"
Liam started, caught off guard. From the bedroom doorway, Zebbidy watched him closely through carefully calculating eyes.
"They didn't want me," Liam began slowly. "I mean, when the thugs showed up at the house – that's where we went after Poisson's party – and then they took a hold of Lynné and Joséphine, but they let me go."
"Why?" The way he said it, Sands made the word sound more like a statement than a question.
Liam shrugged, as if he was still didn't know exactly why he hadn't been taken to Poisson's mansion to be tortured like his partner, but he did have an answer to the question.
"They said they needed someone to get the word out. The – they . . . they needed someone to . . . to tell you, so . . . y'know . . . you'd . . . go and get her?"
He looked helplessly at Zebbidy as Sands stared intently at the carpet. She shrugged as if to say 'You gave it your best shot' and let her hands fall limply at her sides.
With a nervous clearing of his throat, Liam asked the question:
"So, uh . . . what happened to you guys?"
Quickly, Zebbidy filled him in on what had been going on between her and Sands, taking extra precaution to tell him only the major details and nothing unnecessary like Sands' nightmares and the temporary blindness.
Thinking of the agent made her automatically focus her gaze on him. Deep in thought, his brows narrowed in contemplation, he was silent, brooding, lost in his own thoughts and completely unaware of the two people who were casting worried glances in his direction. Shirtless, too, Zebbidy couldn't help but note. In the bright light of the living room, she noticed for the first time how many scars the agent bore.
She had seen the one on his left arm when she had tended to his shoulder, as well as the number of designs he had on the same limb. But only now did she see the series of identical marks along the inside of his arm; they almost looked like he had made them himself.
There was another scar on his right side, just below the gash she had been tending to for the past four days. There was another one above and to the left of the other wound she had stitched up. Her attention was snagged momentarily by the tattoo over his heart. That one had caught her eye before, she remembered, and she still wanted to know if it held any meaning to him, but once again she her attention was snared by something else.
A thin scar, at least three inches long, ran along his abdomen, just below his ribcage. She wondered where all of the marks had come from, but that one was most peculiar. Zebbidy tilted her head to one side, barely aware that sputtered explanations were still flying from Liam's mouth.
"You're gonna help her, right? You're not just . . . you're not going to leave her there, are you? She . . . you don't know what they could be doing –"
"I know exactly what they could be doing to her, Fusco," Sands interrupted blandly, still staring coldly at the floor. "So I don't need you to give me all the juicy details, thank you very much."
"But," Liam began, looking desperate, "you're going to get her back, aren't you –"
"It sounds as though you think I'm some . . . all-knowing, all-powerful, unstoppable being, Fusco." Sands arched an eyebrow as he leaned back against the couch cushions, casually crossing his arms over his chest. "And you should know by now that that's just not true."
Dumbfounded, Liam shot another worried glance at Zebbidy, clearly unsure of what to say.
"To answer your question, Fusco," Sands began, carefully leaving the couch, "yes. I am going to lend my hand in retrieving my darling little sister, but first thing's first."
He stood directly in front of Liam, now. Despite the younger agent's obvious advantages (Liam was taller, stronger, and, of course, uninjured) Sands was immune to any intimidation that could have been expressed. He stared up at him, his face hard enough to have been an image on a headstone. Quite calmly, he opened his mouth, and began to list his orders.
"Before we do anything, I need you to make yourself useful by hurrying off . . . and buying Zeb some clothes. Nice clothes, Fusco. Nothing too expensive, but nothing from Wal-Mart either."
Before Liam could say that he didn't think there were any Wal-Marts in France, Sands continued on, spitting out rapid-fire errands one by one.
"You'll need to find something for me, too. Now, I don't particularly care what you get me, just as long as I don't end up looking like Richard Simmons. Once that's done, I want you to pick u the essentials."
"Essentials?" Liam repeated, confused.
With a sigh, Sands rolled his eyes and explained.
"Smokes, Fusco. I could really go for some cigs right about now. A weeks deprivation's really taken its toll on me as you can plainly see." He spread his arms out so Liam could see his injuries more clearly. A thin smile playing on his lips, Sands continued, "After that, you're going to report back here and take us to the house."
"And then you'll do something about Poisson?"
"Yes, and then I'll do something about Poisson," Sands sighed with another roll of his eyes. "Now run along. You've got a lot of shit to do and not a lot of time to do it in."
All he needed to do was gesture to the front door and Liam was gone, not even bothering to protest.
"So you're Gaston, huh?" She hung her head in disappointment. "Darn. I was really hoping for Adrián . . . Oh well," she sighed reasonably. "Ya take what ya get."
The hulking mass of muscle that was Gaston glared, his lips curling into a sneer. Lynné saw the single gold tooth wink at her in the light. She managed to hide a jump at the sudden sound of the man cracking his knuckles. Gaston stretched out his arms, flexing his fingers to show how menacing he could be.
"Come on, baby, I haven't got all day," Lyn chided from her seat.
She was prepared for the blow when it came. A little too prepared, actually. It was only a sharp slap across the face. Jesus Christ, that was pitiful! Her father could do better than that and he was a weak, miserable fuck as it was.
"Is that all you've got?" she laughed. "Takes a lot more than that to turn me on, honey bear."
Gaston struck again. And again. And one more time. He pulled her hair and pinched the flesh of her arms and collarbone. He grabbed her throat, his thick, meaty fingers winding around her slender neck. And he shook her, making her head jerk up and down, forward and back, side to side; scrambling her brain like an uncooked egg.
"Oh God . . ." she sighed rapturously, breathless from the torture. "Oh baby . . . do it again."
What the hell is wrong with you? the voice demanded furiously. He's beating the shit out of you and you tell him to do it again!?
He's hardly beating me, Lyn snorted, unimpressed. I've had my arm bitten open by a snake, my stomach slit open, and leg cut of. A few slaps and pinches aren't gonna have much of an effect on me. And I know that this goon can't rough me up too much, nor can he kill me. Not until Sands gets his rear in gear and comes to my rescue.
And the 'Oh baby, do it again?' the voice questioned suspiciously. Care to explain what that's all about?
Lynné grinned.
A little reverse psychology never hurt anyone.
"Oh, God!" she gasped out. "Yes! Do it again! Again! Yes, God, yes!"
The confused look on Gaston's face was almost enough to make her laugh out loud. Almost. But she needed to keep up her charade if she wanted to accomplish anything. Perhaps – and this was really just a foolish hope – if the idiot thought she was enjoying her pain, he would stop, thinking deprivation would be more of a torment than torture itself.
Gaston lashed out, his large hand colliding with the side of her face, sending her thoughts reeling. They tumbled over one another as they were tossed around inside her skull, coming up as battered and bruised as she was. None of them complained, but none were uninjured either.
"I've been so bad . . ." she panted, her breath rough and haggard. Much like her appearance, she imagined. "So very, very naughty . . . you have to punish me. It's the only way I'll learn . . ."
Gaston grimaced, disgusted. He cleared his throat.
"I will have to speak to Mademoiselle Barillo about that," he grunted uncomfortably. "She is the one in charge of arranging your . . . punishments. Although I do not know if that is a good idea. It seems as though you like torture."
"Oh I do," Lynné murmured quietly. "More than you'll ever know."
It wasn't until after Gaston, so revolted that he almost sprinted, had left the room Lynné realized that she every word she had said was true.
Richard Simmons . . . I now have this image in my head of Sands dressed up like him (afro and everything) striking a disco pose and . . . I gotta tell ya, it's not a bad vision, but I think that's because it's Sands. Though I still prefer the one that came to me after watching Collateral for the first time. Y'know that scene in Risky Business where Tom Cruise does that dance in his underwear and sunglasses? Personally, I like the idea of Sands in that position much more than the original. ;D
Author's Thanks and Review Responses:
fanfiction fanatic: Very grateful you decided not to kill me. Yes, who would be willing enough to tackle the monster this story has become? Its length alone has driven meinsane enough to want to continue 9.6;
zigzag: Yep, only now have I seen Finding Neverland, sadly. It was supposed to come out Thanksgiving Day in the US I think, but it didn't. So they changed the date to I forget when, but that day came and went and it didn't come out then either. XO The movie theater in town was offering a sneak preview of it for only five days, so I hurried up and saw it. And I'll try to find 'I'll Stand By You.' Thanks for the recommendation! :D And you've definitely got my support for a childhood/flashback scene! It's always great to read someone else's idea of Sands' past.
Lynx Ryder: I've always liked Joséphine for a name :) When I was developing the character of Josey it was between Joséphine and Sophie. But in the end, I went with Joséphine because I loved the name and also the idea of Lyn calling her 'Josey' :) Loved that movie! It's just a nice story, y'know? I'm so glad I got to see it before it came out on DVD. I don't mind if you use 'The Queen' at all. I encourage it, actually :D And is it just me, or does Johnny make a very good woman?
morph: Happy Christmas to you, too :) As much as I'd like Sands to exact revenge upon Liam, I'm saving the little whelp for Lynné. I think I owe it to her after all the stuff I'm putting her through. Brando accent! X3 I loved that. Can definitely see Zeb getting a laugh of it, too. Glad to hear you liked Lyn's singing. I heard that song, already knew I was gonna have Lyn tied to a chair at some point in the story, and just got a kick out of the idea of her singing 'Always Look on the Bright Side of Life.' Love that song :D And no one can out-do what the cartels did to Lyn. Not until Sands arrives, that is. o.o'
Dawnie-7: I agree. And think it's amazing that a story like Finding Neverland can be so successful. Most movies that are box office are romances or action/adventures or tragic movies, something like that. And though there was definite drama in the end (drama that made me cry ;.;) FN was really just a nice story that made you think. I think I'm just not used to movies I like turning out to be popular :D; Still getting over the shock of PotC. I did see that South Park episode. Oh my God . . . That was just crazy. Freakin' hilarious, though. I always knew woodland critters were a little creepy, but devil worshipers as well? Shocking. Just . . . not right. But funny as hell :D
And before I go, I wanna post the lyrics to Funny Honey. I encourage you guys to read over them (if you've never seen the movie Chicago) and see if you don't agree that they fit Liam and Lyn's relationship.
Sometimes I'm right,
Sometimes I'm wrong,
But he doesn't care,
He'll string along.
He loves me so,
That funny honey of mine.
Sometimes I'm down,
Sometimes I'm up,
But he follows 'round,
Like some droopy-eyed pup.
He loves me so,
That sunny honey of mine.
He ain't no sheik.
That's no great physique.
And, Lord knows, he ain't got the smarts.
But look at that soul,
I tell you, the whole,
Is a whole lot greater than,
Some of his parts.
And if you knew him like me,
I know you'd agree.
What if the world,
Slandered my name?
Why, he'd be right there,
Taking the blame.
He loves me so,
And it all suits me fine.
That funny, sunny, honey,
Hubby of mine.
He loves me so,
That funny honey of mine.
Lord knows he ain't got the smarts…
Now, he shot off his trap.
I can't stand that sap!
Look at him go,
Rattin' on me!
With just one more brain,
What a half-wit he'd be!
If they string me up,
I'll know who brought the twine!
That scummy,
Crummy,
Dummy,
Hubby of mine!
Sidney: (waves furiously) Feliz Navidad, mis amigos!
Lyn: This story's in France, so it would be 'Joyeux Noël, mes amis!' Not 'Feliz Navidad, mis amigos!' 9.9
Liam: (is hiding from Lynné behind the computer desk) O.O;;;
Sidney: Whatever. 9.9 Christmas pessimist . . . And to all a good night!
Sands: Beware of Santa!
Zebbidy: Happy Yule! o.o Err . . . Season's greetings! :D;;
Sidney: Peace out!
Lyn: You're all crazy.
o