Chapter Twelve: Cleanup in Aisle Five, Part One

Oscar Wilde was in the mood for some pistachio ice cream, so he went to the freezer to look for some.

Instead, he found a bag of frostbitten chicken wings, a box of novelty waffles, and a half-eaten carton of peach-raspberry frozen yogurt. Gingerly, he pried open the frozen yogurt.

"It's mauve," he observed. "How utterly dreary!"

"Erik!" Oscar called.

"Yes?" said Erik, turning around on the organ bench.

"Do you know what happened to the last of our pistachio ice cream?"

Erik shrugged. "Oh, I threw it out. It was spoiled."

"What? We only purchased it last week-"

"It had turned the most disgusting shade of green. . ."

It was moments like this that reminded people that Oscar was a very large and physically imposing man capable of rowing for eight. As he glared at Erik, who was a few inches taller but looked like a shrunken windlestraw next to the famous poet, his hands balled into big square fists.

But he was Oscar Wilde, so instead he only stared vaguely at nothing and tried to look like everything was fine.

"Erik," said Oscar, "pistachio ice cream is green by nature."

"Oh," said Erik. "Well, sorry about that. Why don't you try the peach-raspberry yogurt? Megan says it's quite good."

"It's mauve," said Oscar.

"What's wrong with that? If you'll eat putrid green-"

"Mauve is a dreadful color, Erik. It's what royal violet became after being abandoned to the middle classes. No, this yogurt you speak of is an utter failure of aesthetics."

Erik stared. His visible eyebrow had risen and deepened the creases in his forehead.

"But you'll eat the green stuff?"

Erik rolled his eyes and eased himself into his greatcoat. Honestly, it was amazing how often two men with such artistic temperaments managed to disagree as often as they did.

"Then I suppose you'll have to go to the store." he decided.

"And you'll have to come too." Oscar replied. "I refuse to face the banal unaccompanied."

About thirty minutes later, the crew was making a mass expedition to the Albertson's across the street, lists in hand.

"You look like Victor Von Doom," said Megan, glancing at Erik, who had swathed himself completely against the sun.

"One can't be too careful." said Erik. "Besides, if you really want to see someone overdressed for the occasion, look at Richard."

Megan took one look at Richard, who was wearing a long blue houppelande with purple accents, a matching feathered hat, and a heavy gold collar.

"What's your point? Richard always dresses like that."

Richard had been pretending not to listen, but he smiled softly to himself and added another slash to his side of the scoreboard in his head.

The security camera trained on the group as they entered the store.

"Ah, for the scents of muffins to sweep across the air again..." Oscar sighed nostalgically.

An older lady was leaning on a shopping cart and staring in a bemused sort of way.

"I'm Oscar Wilde. Here's my card."

Megan followed Richard off toward the cereal aisle.

"Could you help me find the Cheerios?" Richard asked her. "I really would rather not bend over for them."

"Okay," said Megan. "Hey, Richard?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to know your biker name?"

"My what?"

"Yeah, I put your name in a biker name generator. You're Pretty Boy Richard of the Popes of Hell motorcycle club."

"Oh, really?" Richard laughed. "And who were you?"

"Li'l Bitch of the Sons of Santa."

Richard, who disliked the idea of Megan knowing much about being a bitch, only raised an eyebrow.

"My Viking name is Ingibjorg Madgoat," the girl continued. "You were Rauðúlfr Oakengoat."

"Ah," said Richard.

"In Japan, my name would be Meganu Rerusefu."

"Uh-huh…"

"And you'd be Richirude Purantajinetsu."

"Really?" said Richard, starting to feel like fate was playing a very cruel game with him.

"If we were elves, we'd be Inwë of Nargothrond and Caranthir Tur-anion."

"Have you found the cereal yet?"

"Not yet!"

Richard sighed.

"If I was a pirate, I'd be Dirty Charity Rackham. I don't know what your name would be. But I like Dirty Charity. Awesome name for a pirate to have…

"Hey, why are you looking at me like that?"

Erik was strolling casually through the frozen foods when he felt someone grab him by the shoulder.

"What, Oscar?" he asked witheringly.

"You're going to have to come with us, sir," said the security guard.

Erik was shunted into the behind-the-scenes area and a tiny office.

"Sit down, sir," said the officer. "What's your name?"

"Erik Vachon"

"And tell us, what's with the outfit?"

"This is how I dress," said Erik.

"I don't think so. See, there's a thing on the books now, that if you come dressed like a terrorist, we'll treat you like one, and well, you're dressed like a terrorist. I hope you like small spaces, Sugar Plum Fairy."

"What?"

"That's your prison bitch name. I just generated it on the Internet."

Will Erik escape from the security guard?

Will Megan ever stop with the names?

And what the hell is Oscar doing, anyway?
All these and more will be answered in the next chapter of Aprés Vie!