Chapter Three: Dinner With Needles
Disclaimer: Guess who shows up in this chapter that I don't own? If you can't tell who I'm talking about after reading the chapter, then you probably shouldn't be reading this (to be fair, those who haven't read the manga may not recognize the third passenger in the car, but other then that...). The subjects of the statues belong to H. P. Lovecraft, although the old man in the second sculpture was based on Irish folklore. The mecha/chariot isn't mine either. Fans of the orginal Wild Arms may recognize it as the golem Berial. Lastly (and I shouldn't even have to say this, but I will), I don't own any of the lines Emilio quotes from Shakespeare.
Things I DO Own: Kayin, please stand up. Thank you. (Points to OC) He's MINE. Not that you'll want him anyway, but... The pursuer in Berial is also mine, and he was probably invented while I was in a bad mood.
Author's Note: Starting with the reviews for my last post, I'll be responding to reviews on Xanga. The link to my page is on my profile. I won't promise to reply to everything, but I'll try to do as much as I can. Flames will be torn apart and mocked ruthlessly. Thank you.
"And in the master's chambers, they gather for the feast
They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can't kill the beast." - The Eagles, "Hotel California"
As has already been insinuated, Allegro T. Bluesummers was not a typical person. Some might argue that the "typical person" does not exist, but Allegro had a long history of not conforming to a wide range of normal, and he wasn't about to start breaking trends now.
Case in point. His dreams were not normal.
The nightmare he was currently having seemed in many points a typical one until examined more closely. In it, he was running from something. Many people have had that dream; they're running from something, they don't know what, and they're going to get caught because they can't move fast enough. Needles departed from this norm in two ways.
One, he knew exactly what he was running from. This didn't make things any better.
Two, he was running like he'd been shot from a catapult. Unfortunately, the thing behind him was equaling his speed.
How is he moving so fast? Needles thought, He can't even stand up!
"I'm in my chariot now, Neeeeeeeedlesh!"
Oh shit.
The area he was being chased through would have been a nice place to have a pleasant dream in. It would have been nice to just daydream about it. Sadly, Allegro could no longer envision this place during his waking hours; he had been without sight so long that the look of things had faded from his conscious mind. And he never saw this place in nice dreams. But in his nightmares, he could see.
It was a savannah. Grassland all around, occasionally dotted with a waterhole to break the monotony. It was beautiful. Lush. And absolutely perfect for getting run over in.
He's toying with me now, Allegro realized. That thing can make 250 miles an hour on level terrain. The flat land all around him was beautiful, but it mocked him. No hope. Except...
There were trees! A forest, the beginings of a jungle! If he got to it, his persuer would have to slow, and he could escape!
He ran for it. The chariot followed.
It was about thirty feet tall, made of some seamless metal. Blue death wheeling across the plains. It did look like a chariot, especially if the person looking at it noted the twenty foot diameter wheels (complete with very traditional looking spokes), not to mention the huge lances attached to the side, looking for all the world like two gigantic bladed arms.
Needles swerved, zigged, zagged, and almost breakdanced across the field.
Almost there, he thought, almost there.
Both lances split into three sections, revealing the massive missile launchers within. The mad driver put the vehicle into a spin, shooting past his quarry before coming to a stop.
Needles knew what came next. He was already dodging when ports on the mecha's front opened to reveal a dozen machine guns. They roared for a full thirty seconds, nevermind the fact that their target was moving (this was about destruction and fear, death would come in time). Meanwhile, Allegro was making the best of the moment to run like hell for the treeline.
It was a vailiant attempt. But the golem's pilot was done playing. A scream of rage came from the madman, and then an explosion. And then Needles was flying. He came to the abrupt realization that missiles had hit the ground behind him and exploded, and that he was being thrown through the air by the force of the blast. Not good.
The golem accelerated. It was now moving foward faster than Needles was falling. Much faster.
As he flipped head over heels on his way to the ground, he saw the thing charging at him. He closed his eyes, slipping back into the familiar darkness. He braced for impact, the roar of the great machine and the screams of the mad pilot ringing in his ears.
It hit him moving at 225 miles per hour. He was not smashed or splattered so much as disintegrated.
He awoke, gasping. No dramatic scream. The gasps weren't even very loud. He was, however, bathing in a pool of his own sweat.
He hadn't had that dream in a long while. And he'd thought he was doing so well. He sat up, patting the mask over his ruined eyes to make sure it was there. He wondered what had brought his nightmare on only for a moment. He felt it the way normal people felt an ulcer on their gum, not horribly painful, but there, and not leaving anytime soon.
He tried his damnest to ignore it. It didn't work. It was very persistantly coming from outside town, trying to contact him. The bastard couldn't wait untill morning like most sane beings. Nooooooo...
He managed to hold out for forty-five minutes. It was a good try, ruined mainly by the fact that he had woken up at three-thirty in the morning, and he (obviously) hadn't been sleeping well to begin with. Finally, the hope that his visitor would say what needed to be said and leave overcame his pride.
Anyone who thinks having a sixth sense would be cool should get their wish, he thought miserably, Just for a few days. Then broadcasting:
What do you want and why can't it wait until morning?
My my,came the response, You are in a bad mood. I merely wanted to speak to you. What are you doing that is so urgent you cannot speak to your flesh and blood?
Sleeping. Or trying very hard to.
I'm sorry. I thought, however, that you would appreciate some good news.
And what would that be?
Master Knives is coming to your house tonight. That is, tonight in the sense of this being early morning. So you have plenty of time to prepare. Don't worry.
Telepathy was not something Needles had any great mastery over. He wasn't really all that good at it. So there was hope. Maybe he had misunderstood.
Please repeat that. A disbelieving psychic mumble.
You will have the honor of hosting Master Knives tonight.
I thought you said that, Needles replied, I'll pass.
You were not given a choice. This is an honor, Needles! The voice sounded amazed that refusal could even be considered.
Don't "Needles" me, Legato. I'm not in the mood. Today is Tuesday unless I'm sorely mistaken. I already have company coming tonight. And I want to see them.
Cancel.
Your massa can kiss my ass, Uncle Tom. I wouldn't want to see him even if I was free. Needles paused, waited. Three. Two. One.
You impudent fool! What if the Magi had stayed home when they saw the Star of Bethlehem rise? A deity falls to our world, and you won't even nod your head in his direction! The rage behind the voice was overpowering. Complete surrender was a repulsive idea, but so was the thought of another mass slaughter. Needles quickly ran through his options.
I'll tell you what I can do, Legato.
Yes? Hopeful, but not too much. The rage had faded though.
If your massa wants to talk, we can talk after my company leaves. It might actually be fun. I'll keep food heated, meet you out on my porch, and we'll have a midnight snack under the stars. Is that agreeable? A long pause.
Midnight, than? A bit dramatic.
I thought you of all people would appreciate that. You're the dramatic one.
What does that make you? The cute one?
The smart one. Now if you don't mind...
Of course not. I will give you time to prepare.
The presence faded. Allegro sighed. Alone with his own thoughts again, and what thoughts they were! One however, predominated.
"Gelton!" he yelled.
From across the house: "Yergh!"
"We're going to need another cheesecake."
Joseph hadn't known what to expect when he'd set out, family in tow, for Allegro's house. He hadn't really thought too much about it. He was the kind of person who didn't bother himself wondering about such things. He wasn't notably judgemental either, and he didn't gossip. So it said something when the dinner party Needles threw that night became the main topic of conversation at the Triballus house for the next week.
The evening began with their arrival at the Bluesummers residence at six sharp (dinner, the invitation said, would begin at a quarter after). Maria had wanted to get there a bit earlier, but Joseph hadn't gotten home until nearly five-thirty. In a way that was good; the bakery was doing very well, but it also meant that he had very little time to shower and change. To further complicate matters, Joseph was now limping, because in his haste to find suitable clothing, he had stepped on the cat's tail. The cat had shown a remarkable lack of sympathy in its reaction.
Joseph recognized the person waiting for them on the doorstep; Kayin Bostalk, Cameron's father. What was he doing here? Well, obviously he'd been invited, but...
"Hello Joseph, Maria, Emilio," he said, shaking hands with each, "Laura couldn't make it, but Cam's inside with Raymond and Needles. Gelton's in the kitchen, finishing up our meal. It'll be good."
Kayin didn't look half as charming as he was. He was tall, thin, and posessed of scraggly dark hair that would never quite obey a comb. His facial hair grew quickly but never quite organized itself into a proper beard. It was only after he began speaking that people discovered that, dear God, he had charisma. Many were shocked to find themselves listening to and agreeing with him. Had he more ambition, he could have been mayor of the town. As he was, he was content to make a comfortable living giving music lessons (various instruments and singing; Kayin could play almost anything and was reputed to be a prodigy, but always downplayed the talent). Cameron simply followed in his father's wake.
Emilio walked up the stairs, uncertain. He'd never been invited to what his mother called a "grown-up party" before.
"So," Joseph was saying to Kayin, "what did your wife have going on?"
Emilio clutched Leonof as he looked around. He'd never been to his Sunday School teacher's house, but so far (from what he could see of the porch) it looked depressingly ordinary. Then again, maybe all the cool stuff was inside.
The door opened.
"Hey guys, what's taking so long?" Raymond asked, "Gelton's gonna freak if you guys don't get in there and tell him how you like your steak cooked. I told him to just make it medium, and too bad if you like it rarer, but he has such a prima donna 'I am an artiste' attitude about cooking that..."
It was at this point that Raymond noticed the entire Triballus familly (including the cat, who was still latched onto Joseph's leg) staring.
"What?" he asked, slightly confused.
It is probably worth mentioning something about the food sources Gunsmoke's humanity relies on for survival.
In their infinite wisdom, the founders of Project SEEDS realized that, although they were seeking a planet where most if not all of the huddled human masses could live (and eat) in comfort, reality was not always so ideal. Therefore, they packed suitable food items. Cattle, pigs, sheep (good for wool as well), chickens, and yes, even salmon, which were stored in a massive live well. Thousands of different seeds for growing fruits, grains, and vegetables also made the "To Take" list, after all, man cannot live on beef alone.
These goods probably saved humanity when it crashed headlong into an oncoming planet. Gunsmoke was not quite a barren world (there were creatures like the thomases roaming the wastelands, plants designed to live in arid climates, and those who had hunted the massive sandworms and lived to tell about it said that the flesh was quite tasty), but it wasn't ideal for colonization. Luckily for mankind (and unfortunately for a certain genocidal maniac), the ship containing the livestock survived the fall, mostly unharmed. One of the first great tasks the survivors were faced with was creating reseviors for the fish.
That said, it was extremely hard to acquire beef. Not to mention expensive. The resources required to raise farm animals on the desert planet were massive. Salmon had proven fairly easy to introduce to underground lakes and harvest, and Gunsmoke's underground waterways already had food sources for them (the few remaining enviromentalists had, against all logic and self-preservation instincts, protested this action vigorously, but Gunsmoke's aquatic fauna had adapted to their new predators and/or food source magnificently). Cattle on the other hand, required grass. Which required a geoplant to be dedicated to growing a crop humans couldn't directly use. Of course, there were plants to do just that, but only in the very largest cities. As a result...
"An eight ounce steak costs $$175!" Joseph shrieked, "I can't pay for one, let alone three!"
"Needles is paying," Raymond repeated calmly, "it's his treat. I believe it said that on the invitation right above RSVP."
"But we can't possibly accept a gift like that," protested Maria. "I mean, no offense, but we don't even know him that well. If he's lucked into something like that, he might be better off sharing with his close friends."
"Right," Raymond said. "Gelton, Kayin, and me. There's still some left over for you. Pfeiffer was invited too, but he couldn't come."
"But..." Joseph and Maria continued.
"I will be quite offended if you refuse my food after I've put Gelton through the stress of cooking for company. He takes it so seriously."
Everyone jumped. Allegro's stealth was enough to make Satan soil himself, if properly used. It wasn't something easily gotten used to.
"Why are you standing out here? The invitation included access to the inside of my house."
Everyone followed.
"Emilio, did you think to bring Leonof?" Allegro continued. "If you did, perhaps you would favor us with a preview of your play?"
"Sure!" Emilio said, then, as he looked at his parents, "Yes Sir."
"No need for formality right now. Just don't be openly rude."
"I won't," another glance at Dad and Mom, "Sir."
Needles chuckled.
The inside of the house was well-lit, if not exactly cheery. The main problem with the decoration was that it was rather plain. Not a lot of color. Needles, of course, had no use for bright, cheerful colors, but Joseph wondered why Gelton didn't do something for his own benefit. Breaking up the monotony were some pictures hung in the living room. Most of them were people posing beside weapons or machinery of some sort. A couple were group shots. A strange statue sat on the fireplace mantel. It disturbed the baker, although he couldn't say why. It looked to be equal parts human, squid, and dragon, but at the same time none of the above. Sitting there with wings outstreched. Horrible.
"Do you have an artistic temperment, Joseph?"
Joseph turned to face Allegro, realizing that he'd been staring at the statue for some time.
"Well, I take pride in my bread, but..."
"That might be it, than. That particular image seems to affect artists the most." He paused, thinking, "I invited a poet over once. He started choking when he saw it."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Then why do you have it out?" the baker asked, "If it has a bad effect on people?"
"I like it. It's also very rare, so I like to display it. And don't tell me it's more likely to get stolen here, I don't think anyone could. Do you?"
"No," Joseph managed.
"Glad we agree."
Gelton took that moment to interrupt.
"Dinner is served. Follow me to the dining room."
Emilio followed behind his father. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, which made his disappointed expectations even more frustrating. It was an ordinary house. A poorly decorated ordinary house. What had he thought it was going to be though?
The dining room (and what Emilio could see of the kitchen) was nicer. This was where Gelton spent most of his time, and it showed in the design. Maybe Raymond was right about him being a prima donna artiste.
"Have you ever been here before Cameron?" Emilio whispered (he wasn't sure why, but whispering felt like the thing to do here).
"Once or twice. He has a library upstairs."
"Awesome!" Forgetting to whisper. The adults stared, except for Needles who just grinned.
"Yes, Emilio, I'll show it to you. It's actually called a study, but..." he shrugged.
"Thank you!"
"Now that I think of it, it would be a great place for you to give your preview." Needles continued as they took their seats.
As Gelton served the food, Joseph turned to Allegro: "Hey, you guys got any sauce or anything?"
"Why would you want that?" Allegro asked politely.
"For the steak."
Needles paused. Gelton nearly dropped the plates he was still holding.
"Needles," Gelton muttered, "please tell me I didn't hear that."
"Don't mind him Gelton," Needles replied. "I doubt very much that he gets an opportunity to eat like this often."
"So," the baker continued, oblivious, "that's a no?" Gelton turned to face him, teeth grinding.
"SILENCE, BLASPHEMER!"
The car sped across the desert. Actually, it looked more like someone had taken a sports car and a station wagon, combined them, and given the resulting hybrid a tank's armor. It got the job done though, it moved far faster though the wastelands then anyone expected.
At the driver's behest, music filled the vehicle. Loud music. Mostly mid to late twentieth century rock and roll (though there were a few exceptions); right now the soothing voice of Jim Morrison and the Doors, maybe Pink Floyd or The Who next,maybe jump forward a few years to Nirvanna? Why not?
"How far to your brother?" the shotgun passenger asked.
"Approximately three hundred miles, master," the driver responded, "We'll be there by eleven, enough time for you to shower."
"Can we please hurry Bluesummers?" came a raspy voice from the backseat, "I don't want to listen to this shit for four more hours."
"Ah, Ellen," the driver said with a grin, "you do know that you lose the girly voice when you get upset, right? I can gauge your mood solely by how much like a man you sound."
"You... BASTARD!"
"And another thing, never again insult The Doors in my presence, or I'll rip you in half and leave you for the sandworms."
"Whatever. Just please don't get started on how John Lennon was a prophet of the master's birth."
"We've been over that a thousand times if we've discussed it once. John Lennon was a rarity: an enlightened human."
"Oh, please."
"How else do you explain Imagine?"
"Other than as The Beatles asking the rest of humanity to commit mass suicide?"
"No, you're missing the point. Lennon and his followers were trying to reform their fellow man. They hadn't created superior beings yet."
"Sure. Let me tell you something: The Beatles sucked."
"Shall we stop the car?"
"ENOUGH!" Both involved parties jumped, which in the case of the driver nearly caused him to lose control of the car.
The front passenger stared at them. It was not a nice stare. It generally meant death for its target. This particular instance would not be so brutal, but the gaze was unnerving nonetheless.
"Elendira, quit mocking his music. It's his vehicle. Legato, quit making fun of her voice." Regal features curled into a sneer. "Really, you're both acting like five-year-old humans."
"I apologize, Master," Legato replied, making an awkward little half-bow. It wasn't all that impressive looked until one considered that it was made by the driver of a vehicle moving at eighty miles an hour.
"Please accept my own apology," said Elendira, adding her own half-bow. Wouldn't do to get shown up by Legato.
Their master merely nodded, and turned back to his window to stare at the desert. Most saw nothing but wilderness when they looked at it. He, on the other hand, saw potential. He saw the underground oceans that hydro and geoplants could raise working in tandem. He saw the lush meadows that would grow after his sisters enriched and irrigated the soil. He saw exotic tropical rainforests. Crystal clear rivers flowing through valleys. Gently rolling hills with gorgeous views of the surrounding countryside.
All just waiting to happen.
"Legato," he whispered after a short silence, "put on Imagine."
"The food was great, Mr. Bluesummers," Joseph said, wiping his face with a napkin. Needles stared.
"I have never known anyone to make such a mess with sauceless meat and a baked potato (may God forgive you for the macaroni incident)," the ever-gracious host replied, "and it's either Allegro or Needles."
"I'm sorry for Joseph's table manners, Allegro," Maria said.
"It's okay," Allegro said, "Truth be told, I'm more irritated about being called 'Mista Bluesummers.' But you know... it really is pathetic that your ten-year old son has better ettiqute than your husband."
Everyone but Joseph laughed.
"That isn't funny..." he wailed.
Emilio, who was finishing his last little bit of steak, grinned.
"Now if everyone is done, Emilio has a little performance for us. There are a couple of chairs in the study that my guests can use. I'll stand; it shouldn't take too long."
"But..." Emilio said, "right now?"
"What's wrong with that?" Needles asked.
"Nothing, I can do it. I'm just... not prepared. But I'll try."
Needles grinned.
"That's the spirit! To the study!"
They walked up the stairs, Allegro leading, hand on the rail.
The second story was not exactly cramped, but the group was squeezed single-file into the hallway that the stairs led to. Either someone had designed this hallway to be the most uncomfortable one in existence (Gelton, who admittedly was fairly massive, had at most three inches clearence on either side) or the rooms the doors on either side of them led to larger rooms.
Needles entered the second door on the left.
"Here it is. Make yourselves comfortable. Gelton, the lights."
Gelton flipped on the lights as he entered. Everyone stared.
"Wow," Maria whispered.
"Isn't it great?" Cameron asked Emilio.
The room was massive. Bookselves filled with volumes of all kinds lined most of the walls, except for the windows and a space between two of them where a large picture was hung. Three recliners sat around a rather nice-looking table (Gelton, ever industrious, was already turning them all to face the same way). Off to one side of the room sat another strange sculpture, this one much larger than the one on the mantel.
An old man in a wheeless, flying chariot, three-pronged-harpoon raised high. He was being dragged along through the air by a team of four not-quite gargoyles. They weren't quite gargoyles in part because they were too supple, too hideously graceful, and in part because the expressive faces of the traditional gargoyles were absent. Not simply less powerful or anything like that, utterly gone, faceless. Several more of them were alongside the chariot, bearing down on...
A man, fallen down, still trying to crawl away on hands and knees. Looking over his shoulder and screaming. The harpoon was pointing at his chest.
"Needles," Joseph said, "your taste in art is scary."
"You mean Nodens and the Wild Hunt?" his host asked in a offhand, is-that-so, sort of voice.
"Is that what you call it? Looks like a man chased down by a trident-wielding diabolist to me."
"Interesting," Needles mused, "It's been quite a while since I heard the word 'diabolist' used in a conversation. And yes, I do call it that. It was a gift. Now... Emilio, are you ready?"
Emilio was standing by the table, Leonof in his hands. He looked slightly nervous, but not terribly so.
"What do you want to see?" he asked.
"Well, since you're going to be putting on Macbeth... something from that, I suppose."
"How about the dagger speech?" then, without waiting for an answer, the boy's voice deepened in pitch. It became a sort of English accent, not a fake sounding stage one, but one so disturbingly realistic that for a moment even Needles was taken aback. Leonof knelt on the table as Emilio began.
"Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee." Here the puppet reached for something invisible.
"I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.
Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going;
And such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses," Leonof clutched its face.
"Or else worth all the rest; I see thee still,
And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,
Which was not so before. There's no such thing:
It is the bloody business which informs," the marionette now paced nervously, while Emilio's voice gave off a very convincing aura of menace, not-quite-insanity.
"Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one halfworld
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate's offerings, and wither'd murder,
Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,
Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace.
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design
Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth,
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
Thy very stones prate of my whereabout,
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives:
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.
I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.
Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell
That summons thee to heaven or to hell."
Leonof strode right off the table, and Emilio picked the puppet up. Everyone burst into applause.
"Beautiful kid! Absolutely fantastic!" Raymond gushed, "I thought that thing was gonna walk up and murder me!"
"Quiet Raymond," Kayin said, "You're embarassing him. Emilio, if you ever want to do a musical, let me know. I'd be thrilled to coach anyone you have singing. Especially you yourself; you've got a magnificent voice, you could do great things with it."
"Thank you."
Joseph just smiled. It was one thing to know that your ten-year-old son had gotten together with his buddies to put on an unabridged performance of Macbeth. It was quite another to hear the same son talking about "bloody business."
Just the character, he thought, just the character.
"Hey Needles," Maria was saying, "is this your family?"
Needles turned.
"Oh, the picture between those shelves? Yes."
"Well," Maria said, "tell us about them. How about a little information on our host."
The picture was fairly simple. It was a photograph, enlarged to fill a rather big picture frame. Had they been looking at it casually from across the room, they might have marked it down as a skilled painter's work, but under scrutiny it was obviously too realistic to be the work of human hands. The subject was a family sitting on a grassy hillside under a tree having a picnic; a blonde man and woman, twin boys of about eight or so, another slightly younger boy, a girl that couldn't be much older than two or three, and a cloaked, masked figure sitting hunched over in a wheelchair. That person (gender was impossible to discern) was the only one who didn't look like s/he was having fun, but perhaps that was only because of the covering. The little girl was pulling at a bit of the cloak covering the legs, apparently trying to get him/her to come and play.
"So what do you want to know?" Allegro asked.
"Who's who... and where did you get your hair? Both your parents are blonde."
"My hair?"
"Come on, don't play dumb," she teased, "Your bright, blue hair. You've already said you weren't born blind, so you have to know what I'm talking about."
"Dye job?" he joked, "no, no. Some weird recessive gene that hit my entire family. And that's my father and his sister, not my mother."
"Sorry about th-"
"Don't be. You aren't the first to make that mistake. Let's see... I'm one of the twins, the one on the left I think... the other is my dear brother Legato. The younger boy is Andante (he was a handful), and the little girl is Vivace, the only girl of the whole brood."
"What about the guy in the wheelchair?" Cameron asked.
"I'm getting to him. Be patient. That is my elder brother Staccato. During his life he commited many crimes, however, as far as he was concerned, the worst was being born ugly. He was, in fact, absolutely hideous. One of the few sights that really stands out in my memory. I was one of maybe three people who could meet his eyes without flinching."
"Was..." Maria mused, "you mean he's..."
"Dead?" Needles responded, "Yes, he is that. Out of everyone in that picture, only Legato and I are still alive. And I haven't seen him in years."
"Oh." she said. "I didn't mean to bring up painful memories."
"You are the most apologetic person I have ever seen, Mrs. Triballus. You didn't kill them. And Staccato is better off. He... wasn't well."
Needles stared in the direction of the painting for a few moments.
"Well," Joseph said, "It's been fun."
For the first time that evening, Allegro looked distrought.
"Leaving? Surely not, it's only a quarter-till-ten! I've got an evening to fill! Another hour? Gelton can whip us up something for desert."
"Sorry. Hate to rush off, but Emilio has a bedtime."
"Oh well," Needles rallied, "come back any time. Or I'll come to your house and demand you feed me. Whichever." He grinned.
"Sure, I'll invite you guys over sometime," Joseph replied. This seemed to relieve Needles somewhat.
"Alright," he said, "Gelton, show them to the door. I think I'm going to stay up here for the moment."
"Well, that was weird," Joseph said, once they'd gotten home and Emilio was in bed asleep.
"Joseph!" his wife scolded.
"Well, it's true," the baker replied, "you're just too polite to admit it. I mean, he was a nice guy, but..."
"Are you still freaked out over those statues?" Maria began to giggle.
"No, I..." the giggling was rapidly evolving into full-scale laughter, "You be quiet! Those were freaky!"
"Yeah, I know dear, but..." a couple more giggles, "aren't you overreacting?"
Joseph didn't say anything for a moment. Rationally, he knew he was overreacting. The first statue was weird, but there were far weirder things in the world. The second statue was violent, but there were more violent things in the very play his son was putting on. Needles had questionable tastes in art. So what? But something within him was reacting against those things. And...
"Did you get the feeling that he was sizing us up?" he finally said.
"No..." Maria frowned, "What gave you that idea?"
"I just felt like he was waiting for a reaction the entire time. And did you see him grinning while he was naming off his family?"
"It was a smile dear. He can't have fond memories?"
"He was grinning because his entire family is named after a theme!"
"Joseph..."
"Music! Who names all their children after music terminology!"
"Well, maybe he was grinning because he thought it was silly, or maybe he thought we might say something. You're so suspicious." She kissed him.
This argument made Joseph rethink his position.
"You're right. I'm suspicious. He was a nice guy. And you, my lady, are breathtakingly beautiful." He gave her his best charming smile. She pretended offense.
"Are you just trying to flatter your way into my bed?"
"Well... yes,"he said. She kissed him again.
"It's working."
"Well, that was weird," Gelton said, once the Triballus family was safely out the door.
"Yeah," Kayin said, "Joseph's always struck me as a little odd. But that kid has talent." He thought about something, then turned to his son. "Repeat any of this to anyone and I'll beat you."
"Yes Sir!" Cameron saluted. Everyone laughed, except for Needles, who was still upstairs.
"Your kid has the right idea," Raymond said. "Suck up and look good, that's the ticket." At 6'4", he wasn't quite as massive as Gelton, but he was big enough to take up a large part of the couch if he tried.
"Please Raymond," Kayin said, "sit up. You've got the whole couch." Then, turning to his son again, "and you, you know your mother's been in a bad mood recently. What if I give you to her?"
Cameron shut up.
"Hey, Gelton said, "what is up with Laura? I was looking forward to seeing her."
"Eyes off my wife."
"You know what I mean Kayin."
"Well," She's been sort of sick recently, and..."
"I'm gonna be a big brother!" Cameron piped up. Kayin stared at his offspring in exasperation.
"Congratulations!" Raymond said.
Gelton laughed. "Ten years apart, man. Most prefer to get their diaper changing over all at once."
"I told you it wasn't for sure," Kayin said to his son, "I wasn't going to start passing out cigars."
"Are you still worried about that?" Gelton asked.
"Yes, I am," Kayin responded, "I am very worried. And Laura is nervous as hell, God bless her. That's why she's not here. Maybe after another couple of months go by and nothing happens..."
"Sorry," Gelton said in his most apologetic tone of voice, "I didn't mean it to come out like that."
"It's okay," Kayin said, "I know you didn't."
Then Raymond brought it up.
"Have you ever thought... maybe it's us? Maybe all the stuff in us is what screws up our attempts to have kids?"
"Plenty of us have had children," Kayin noted, "but you have a valid point. Of those of us who've attempted to procreate with the general population, we do have a higher incidence of problems. As if God is thinking twice about letting us live on."
"You sounded so depressing there," Gelton said.
"It's worse for her. She didn't do anything but marry me."
"If you're going to sit around moping about your difficulties Kayin," the ever-stealthy Needles said, without much compassion, "then I'd rather you stand aside. My greeting commitee must be ready for anything. I don't know what the dog-god will try."
"I can fight," hissed Kayin. "He wants to kill everything human. Laura's human, and Cam's half! For them I'll sing the monster to hell!"
"That's what I wanted to hear," Needles said with a grin, "that's the Kayin Bostalk I know. Everyone to their positions."
"I want to fight too!" yelled Cameron.
"No," said Kayin, gently but firmly, stopping all argument. "Maybe one day, but not now. how do you think your mother and I would feel if something happened? You'll stay in the guest bedroom untill it's over."
Cameron looked disappointed, but nodded, "Yes Sir."
"Alright," Needles said, "get ready."
PREVIEW
Needles: The boy has talent. The opening of the Globe is going to go very well, and I'm going to be there to cheer him on. He is my best student, and his achivements deserve no less. But a pall is hanging over this gathering. Every one of them is walking the wire, balanced between life and death, unknowing. The hatred of the dog-god. The horrific nature of the grinning, man-shaped thing in the back row. The appropriateness of the boy's first choice will kill us if nothing else does. By the pricking of my thumbs...
NEXT CHAPTER: Something Wicked This Way Comes