"Old McDonald bought the farm
Eee-I Eee-I Ohhhh—"
GURGLEROWLLLRGEROWWWLGULG GLUGRK! The melodious tenor was rudely interrupted by the rumblings of a tummy with the approximate capacity of a freighter's cargo hold.
"Envy? I'm starving! Aren't there any more turkey roll ups? The tray's empty!"
Fresh from makeup prior to his guest segment on Crossfire, Envy critically examined his beautifully buffed nails for any imperfections before planting the polished toe of his fine Italian lace ups squarely in his companion's gut. It disgusted him a little—a bit like kicking the hypothetical sack of feces with which Envy frequently compared Gluttony. "Don't call me that, you moron! Greene, remember? Nathan Vinson Greene. Corporate heir-apparent to the highly lucrative industry of making covert cocksuckers vomit up the cash while they beat their breasts in guilt even as they beat their—"
"Mr. Greene? Fifteen minutes, sir." The CNN page was a lovely young man, just lovely. Gluttony could keep his goddamned turkey rolls, the Sin mused as he admired how the Korean's delectable buttocks appeared all too perfect through his thin chinos. Like twin scoops of butter-pecan ice cream. I could do with dessert… "Was that you singing, sir?"
"Mmmm. Warming up my voice. The pollen down south this time of year does simply dreadful things to me. Silly, isn't it? Songs of childhood and all that."
The page nodded, then regarded the empty sandwich tray with some alarm. "Oh, I'm sorry—did you need anything else to eat?" There had been enough to feed not only Mr. Greene but the two guests on Crossfire and the other featured celebs slated for the Larry King taping. Greene's slender physique gave lie to the idea of him scarfing down the carbs in private moments. His companion, on the other hand—
"Mr. Grossman is not well. Low blood sugar and all that. Gets a bit peckish." Mr. Greene jerked his head towards the small collapsible cooler near his elbow. "Have to keep him from keeling over, but we're out of snacks for him. If…you could be so kind…?"
The page stared at the epicene figure crammed into a Versace suit and shivered a little. "I'll call down to catering and see what we can do." He glanced nervously at his watch. "I'll be down to fetch you to the sound stage in about ten minutes. Have a good show, Mr. Greene."
"Will do." The page kept staring intently at the homunculus. "Was there…anything else?"
The young man flushed and stammered a little. "N-no. No. It's just that…well…I'm sure you hear all the time how you look so much like….you know."
"Johnny Depp?"
"Well…yeah."
A low, sensual chuckle. "Mmmm….yes. Do you…like…Johnny Depp?"
The page flushed and nodded before shooting out of the door as if the conversation had taken an intimate turn and he wasn't quite sure how to react. After all, this man, this Nathan Greene, was appearing to discuss the radical theory of 'curing' homosexuality and the new reports suggesting that the famous author, James Busbee McDonald, hadn't died of a heart attack on the island of Ranamuerte but had actually been murdered. Greene was pimping a tell-all expose for Vanity Fair that suggested that McDonald had been slain by one of the guests at the Hope Springs resort. It promised to be a bombshell interview on Crossfire, and he was appearing in the second half of Larry King Live!
Envy leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, regarding Gluttony with mild amusement. "Anything left in that cooler of yours?"
"Wing and a drumstick."
"Well, you'd best finish them off before that pretty little piece comes back. We might need to make room for fresh supplies."
The 'drumstick' was pretty much done for—not much meat on the bone. The 'wing' portion was gobbled down so fast it was hardly tasted. "Owwwwie! I hurt my tooth!" Gluttony pouted. He spat out two teeth, filmed with blood, and something shiny.
"Gimme that." The gold was unharmed, its Flamel crest intact. Envy grinned maliciously and tucked it into his pocket. "Never know when it might come in handy…"
THE BATTERY CARRIAGE HOUSE, CHARLESTON
"Mrs. Hughes? Good to hear from you again. How are you and your family?"
"Oh, we're fine, Mr. Falman. Mays has settled me and the girls here on the Battery. He's going on to the island. He so wanted to be there for Taisa's wedding but was trying to put our safety first. I know Edward and Taisa told him it was fine…but Mays was just so disappointed, even though he never said a word. So we compromised—I'm staying here and he's going on. "
What kind of insane—"Are you all right, Mrs. Hughes?" Falman felt a very real sense of anger at the thought of the west coast attorney leaving his wife and children behind. He'd come to know Mustang well enough to know that Roy wasn't going to be offended if his long time friend had to miss out on his nuptials.
Worse than that, Fritz Elric hadn't turned up yet. They'd located his ex-wife, Christine, getting swacked in some dive in Pensacola, Florida called The Devil's Nest. The way she had herself wound around that man Dorochet reminded him of a bitch in heat flipping her tail at a junkyard dog. She didn't know where Fritz was and frankly didn't care about her son. "I don't want anything to do with that family. He's close to his Aunt Tricia—she's his godmother. Anything goes wrong, she'll take him in. Now, beat it, mac!"
Roy had called him before the family sailed out from Key West. "Mays and Gracia and the girls are heading back to Charleston. Can you find them a place to stay until the house is safe?" But it seemed like Hughes just couldn't stay away from the Elric family.
"Please, allow me to take you and the girls to dinner tonight. I'd feel better if you had someone watching your back, at least until we know where Fritz Elric is."
Beneath that placid smile, Gracia Evans Hughes was furious. How dare Mays run off and leave them like that! She'd emailed Teddy, who promised to knock some sense into Hughes—"with a two-by-four if necessary"—and send him packing back where he belonged. Here they were, not fully out of danger, dear Fritz still missing and that awful Envy creature still slinking around…and Mays just upped and left her behind, using the children as pretext…yet again.
"Why, that would be just lovely, Mr. Falman, but really, it's too much for you to bother—"
"It's no bother. And it's Vito, please."
"Ah…well…of course. We'd love to join you…Vito."
"Mommmmmy! You smell pretty," Elycia observed, watching as her mother brushed out her short brown hair and spritzed herself lightly with White Diamonds, a scent Mays always asked her to wear when he was feeling a bit frisky. You can't fool me, Mays Hughes, Gracia thought angrily. It's not Teddy. She's so in love with Remy she doesn't see anybody else. If your eye is roving, who the hell is it??
AIRPORT HILTON HOTEL, MIAMI
His hands were trembling as he cleaned them in the airport lavatory at Miami/Orlando International Airport. He shoved the denim work shirt back in his carry on.
It still smelled good, like Remy had just taken it off. It's not going to happen. I can't do that to Ted—and besides, Jean Remy Havoc's never sucked a dick in his life. Still…
Still what? What did he hope to accomplish by hounding after Teddy's husband? Or was it something more—something he'd been denying for over ten years? That was when he and Taisa had spent that week with Teddy before her cancer surgery and the three of them had briefly resumed their triad. One night Taisa and Teddy had ganged up on him, teasing that, after all those years of topping everyone in sight, it was finally Mayland's turn to get a taste of what he'd dished out for so long. Mustang—no, it definitely wasn't forced or coerced. Little bastard had charmed his way straight up May's backside. Hughes had been scared, damn it. Scared to loose control, even more than he was scared of being hurt.
And it had been good. Un-be-fucking-lievable. Okay, the aftermath had been a bit of a bitch, but still—
It had happened only once, but Mays found that since he'd met Jean Havoc he couldn't put the idea out of his mind, especially after seeing him get out of the hot tub with an erection of Kentucky Derby proportions.
All right. It wouldn't be Remy…but Hope Springs was a gay Mecca now. Surely there had to be somebody there…some man that wasn't getting hitched and was of a mind to pound the Piledriver straight out of his mind with ecstasy…
Soon as the gate agent told him of the delay, he rebooked his flight, checked back into the Airport Hilton, threw back a few scotches and hailed a taxi. English wasn't the driver's first language so it took a couple of tries and a few rude in-and-out fist and finger gestures before the driver nodded and headed off for the seedier side of town. "Homosex?" the driver asked.
"Uhhhh…no. Not men. Just a book shop. You know, porno."
"Porno? Oh, si! Pink plastic pussy for you. Amigo?"
"Ahhh….si. Yes. Something like that. I really miss my wife, you know?"
"Molded from Colt Commando's Actual Penis! Amazingly life-like CyberSkin—Free Bonus Sample of ID WET Lube and Velvet Pouch Included. Suction Cup Base for Hands Free Action! (requires four C batteries). There was something oddly familiar about the face on the box. Colt Commando had been the winner of countless adult industry awards for such distinguishing career milestones as "Best Moneyshot", "Hottest Blowjob" and "Best Solo Performer". Must have been in his forties but that eye patch lent him a piratical air that made Mays' cock twitch with interest.
"You're gonna need more lube with this," the proprietor cautioned. "I'd suggest maybe Seka's Anal-Eze. Got some benzocaine so you'll be able to sit down after you ride."
Mayland Alexander Hughes gave him a frosty glare. "This is for my girlfriend. I have to go on a business trip."
"Oh, please, Mary! You think I can't spot a Bottom a mile away?"
Mays mouth went dry with panic. "Ummm…is it that obvious?"
The young man scanned him with cynical blue eyes and then snorted with amusement. "Those shoes were a dead giveaway. Who dresses you when Carson isn't around to juzzzsh up your sleeves?"
"Crap." Why did Gracia ever suggest that he start watching Queer Eye?
Eleven meaty inches of CyberSkin bounced off the doors of the armoire that neatly concealed the flat screen TV. Mays pushed himself up off his knees and cursed as his right elbow slid into a puddle of champagne from the split of Mumm's that had topped out of the bottle rack in the door when the mini-fridge flipped over. The door had broken off its hinges but the suction cup base remained stubbornly attached even though the business end of the vibe had torn off, owing to its construction of the softer, easily damaged CyberSkin.
The Anal-Eze reeked like that cheap cherry air freshener shit that you found in taxis on the wrong side of town. He'd done his best to prepare for the worst but when he licked the base of the sex toy and slapped it experimentally on the door of the mini-fridge he had counted on being able to peel the damned thing off again. When it stuck fast, he considered his options and decided what the hell, dropped trou, lubed up, lined up as best as he could and attempted docking maneuvers. His aim was off—the damn thing got trapped under his balls and with his thighs snared in his Jockey shorts he began to buck and flail until he accidentally kicked the door off the fridge, covering the carpet with an expensive assortment of wines and gourmet snackables that no sane traveler would waste money on.
It occurred to him for a horrible minute that his wife must be shoving straight pins right up the backside of a tiny Hughes poppet in revenge for those Comcast Pay-Per-View gay porn flicks he vowed he'd never ordered at the hotel—raising righteous hell with the concierge and demanding said items be taken off his bill.
He was right about the revenge but wrong about the poppet. Gracia was the one being penetrated, yodeling in delight as Detective Vito Falman enthusiastically demonstrated that quiet, bookish gentlemen are often reading more than Shakespeare and The Wall Street Journal. Falman, in particular, had a keen interest in world literature, The Kama Sutra being an excellent example of where his interests lay…
ABOARD THE MARY READE
Captain Livy Armstrong spanned the distance between them in three strides and knocked Remy's mother flat on her ass with one hefty slap.
"That's for standing me up, Jeanne. Welcome aboard."
Three things happened in very rapid succession:
Jean-Remy Havoc took two steps towards the Captain, fingers already curled into a fist that had never been raised in anger towards any woman, including the one that stabbed him, quite literally, in the back.
Jeanne-Marie Havoc grabbed her son by the ankle and screamed, "Stay out of this, imbecille!"
Edwin Hohenheim Elric, aged fourteen years, dove at the Captain of the Mary Reade and punched her so hard in the jaw she stepped back two paces and wiped a trickle of blood as it dripped down her chin. He'd split her lip, and judging from the ferocious expression on his face as he stood before her, panting and wild eyed, he was going to worse if she made one move closer towards his…nanny.
It was, as Edward might have observed under less tense circumstances, "…so quiet you could have heard a fish fart." Nobody moved.
Armstrong spat out a mouthful of blood, then snorted with laughter. "Looks like the little pisher has some hair on his balls. Good. Good. Rest easy, son. I don't make it a point to piss off a woman who's a better shot than I am."
She leaned down and offered her arm to Jeanne-Marie. "Get up, old woman. And put that heater away."
Edwin stared at Havoc's mother. A snub nosed .38 had appeared in her hand, pointed right at the Captain's head. "Ma'am—you aren't going to shoot her for slapping you, are you?"
"For slapping me? Non. But if she'd touched you I'd have given her the third eye of prophesy." Shoving the pistol back in her bag she accepted the Captain's hand and climbed to her feet. "Wasn't my fault, Livy. Oakley never showed up. That's why I never called you that night. Your woman wasn't woman enough to treat you right."
"And you didn't see fit to tell me…?" the Captain demanded irritably.
"Because when you get dumped you get drunk. You get drunk you get to smashing furniture. I could see you putting your fist right through my brand new Wurlitzer jukebox and breaking chairs over the heads o' any blonde that pissed you off, cher. Couldn't risk the insurance. Cost me a fortune, last time you got left behind. Figure to give you a few months to cool out, non?"
Captain Amstrong merely lifted her shoulders and turned away, already disinterested.
Your woman wasn't woman enough to treat you right. Those words dented Edwin's libido faster than watching Old Lady Havoc get busted in the chops. "She…she's a…" he swallowed hard over the word he brain had never associated with anything hotter than Ellen Degeneres or Melissa Etheridge—not bad but they didn't exactly crank his engine. "She…doesn't like….dick?" he spluttered to his aunt.
The Captain paused. "I like penises, " she qualified, not bothering to turn around. " I just don't like them on men."
From the Alchemical Journal of T. Roy Mustang…
As I can recall, I've only beaten the shit out of Mays Hughes on two occasions. The first, needless to say, was upon the occasion of the campus radio broadcast when he Outed me to the entire student body at Berkeley. Teddy and I chased him half way across campus before we caught up with him. We broke Teddy's camera tripod over his head and by the time he came to on the doorstep of the Kappa frat house (stark naked with anti Kappa slogans painted all over his bare arse) he'd come to the conclusion that Roy Mustang Is Not Someone To Be Crossed Or Pissed Off. That, as they say, is Rule Number One.
Rule Number Two—Do Not Abuse, Malign or Harass The Friends And Lovers of Roy Mustang. Maybe I can't snap my fingers and incinerate people any more but I can damn well make them wish I had. Which is why Hughes earned himself a black eye when he blithely suggested that the Berkeley Yacht Club could use Edward as a convienent anchor at the next regatta. While I reserve the priveledge of poking fun at my lover whenever it suits me—or whenever his oversized ego needs a good stomping—I'll be goddamned if I let others take a whack at him. Especially if I know it's something that would really hurt him.
Like his fear of deep water, for instance.
He can't swim. You've figured that out, yes? There's not a damn thing remotely bouyant about automail. He will not willingly enter water that is deeper than his knees—about ankle deep for the rest of us. Alphonse and Winry had a pool in their house in San Francisco. Ed wouldn't willingly go near it, not even with an army of nieces, nephews and friends begging him to come join the fun. And he will only go into an onsen if the pool is shallow and I am there to make damn sure he gets out.
I give him the devil about anything and everything—but not about drowning.
Alphonse tells me that he had to stay drunk during much of the voyage from London to New York during the war. Al says that when he was sober he was wild-eye'd, jumpy and snarling at everybody. Al explained to the ship's captain that his brother was a double amputee who couldn't' swim and the captain kindly offered the comfort of a vist from the ship's chaplain. "I told him it would be a very nice thing for him to visit," Al confessed.
"A chaplain?? Why the hell did you do that?" I demanded.
"Because Brother got so furious he forgot to be scared. I think the chaplain understood, because he kept after Brother the whole trip and Ed ended up chasing him around the decks, screaming that God was dead and threatening to shove a hymnal sideways up the chaplain's backside."
Finding a chaplain to rattle Ed's chains aboard the Mary Reade was pretty unlikely,although there was probably a High Priestess of some denomination among the all-female crew and passengers. As for our captain, I had a real worry that she might have dangled my lover over the rails as a lark and chided him for cowardice, so none of us dared breathe a word to him. I saw Teddy go over, slip her arm around his waist and whisper to him. He shook his head, so she kissed his cheek and walked away, looking concerned.
Finally she and Remy came over, on pretext of bringing Izumi over for a good night kiss. "Edo's a wreck," they told me. "Can you distract him? Otherwise we'll have to get him snockered."
"Not a wise idea in present company," Remy advised. "Although, if all else fails, Maman could go over and pick a fight with him—"
"—I'll see to him," I assured them.
The Keys were well behind us, the sun was below the yardarm and the cook had fired up a propane grill and cranked up the boom box. Strings of colored lights twinkled between the masts as the women began disappearing below decks in twos and threes to slip into something more comfortable for diner. A generous buffet was hauled up from the galley—great tubs of ice were spilling over with chilled seafood and beer while a matched set of suntanned twins took turns cranking out frosty libations for the passengers.
I ordered a gin and tonic with extra lime for myself and a neat shot of Napoleon brandy for my other half, who stood so still and rigid at the railing he might have been mistaken for some sort of figurehead had he sported better cleavage. He took the glass without a word, downing it so fast I'm not sure he tasted it, let alone swallowed it. I was about to make some snide observation about it when I noticed the film of beaded sweat on his upper lip and the fine tremor in his hand as he passed the empty glass back to me.
Parking my gin to one side, I stepped quietly up behind him and pulled him into my arms, resting my chin comfortably on the top of his head, that damnable antenna of his tickling my nose in the brisk wind off the starboard bow. He didn't budge from the rail, but there was a barely perceptible relaxing of his shoulders and spine. "Thanks…Shithead."
From that stubborn son of a bitch, that was an outright declaration of undying gratitude and devotion, and that hard knot of cold fury and resentment and…yes, damn it, jealousy over Heiderich…began to melt as he gradually relaxed against my chest.
"If the ship goes down, you've got nothing to worry about, " I whispered softly into his hair. "You're so full of hot air you'll stay afloat until the Coast Guard finds you."
"Fuck you," he whispered back, hands covering mine as I began gently stroking his chest and shoulders.
"Name the day—or night." God, after so damn long it felt good to hold him. Since our quarrel I'd been physically uncomfortable, like something had carved out a deep hollow inside my chest with a blunt, rusty chisel. Nothing I could do would ease that sick, empty sensation. It wasn't hunger—not even physical pain that I could identify. But that discomfort vanished altogether as soon as he leaned back and pressed his small, slight body into mine. So that was the problem all along, I finally admitted to myself. I had an Ed-shaped hole in my heart.
"Don't suppose a boatload of Lesbians would be bothered by two men slow dancing together, do ya think?" He sounded like himself again.
"Don't even think about leading," I cautioned, turning him around. He was grinning up at me with that same old blend of malice and tenderness that is the very essence of my lover.
"You lead now," he smirked. "I'll top later."
MIAMI-ORLANDO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, GATE 5
"Yeah, honey, the flight was delayed, but everything's fine. And the flight's jam-packed, so it's a good thing you and the girls stayed home." Hughes gingerly slurped from a foam cup of Viennese Cinnamon cappuccino, trying not to burn his lips. Damn venti had cost him nearly eight bucks so he was determined to finish the drink before boarding the flight to Ranamuerte. "And I swear," he tucked his cell phone closer under his stubbly chin, "I'm the straightest man on the whole damn flight." Almost as soon as he'd said it, his asshole twitched, a painful reminder of his ill-fated attempt to roger himself with the Colt Commando cyberskin dildo in the hotel that afternoon. Said device was in his checked baggage, along with a faded Foghat t-shirt he'd worn in his freshman year and still fit him reasonably well, a pair of his tightest jeans and his best suit for Roy's wedding. Oh, and the skimpiest Speedo he could find in the airport mall. He'd eyed himself in the dressing room with no small satisfaction. "Still lookin' good, pardner," he'd told his reflection, slapping his six-pack abs with pride.
"…soooo, I'll give your love to Ed and Roy, okay? Bye-bye, sweetie! Call you soon as we land!"
"What….is that…smell???" There was this odd…well…funk… that seemed to slap Hughes aggressively across the face soon as he boarded the Aire Carribe AirBus. Something slightly…bestial. Something that reminded him of the pungent breezes that wafted around the elephant exhibit at the San Diego Zoo and made Elycia pinch her little nose and demand to be taken to see the meerkats again. His seat, 14E, was dead center of the center aisle, not the roomy bulkhead he'd requested. He'd tried to argue with the air hostess about it and was given a stony look. "Keep it moving, mac, " she'd growled, cracking her knuckles for emphasis.
The floor of the cabin seemed to cling to the soles of his Italian loafers, and when he surveyed his seat with obvious disgust the hostess informed him this was the only flight heading out to the island this week. "You're lucky we had cancellations—otherwise you'd be shit out of luck. Now sit…down."
"I'd put paper on the seat if I were you." Fifty-megawatt eyes in an angular face. Cheeky grin and some hellishly expensive cologne he couldn't identify. He had a greatcoat—crisp and military of fine gray wool, draped over his arm and with the other hand offered Hughes a copy of the Pontypridd & Llantrisant Observer as he checked 14F against his boarding pass. Mays took an interested whiff of scent and pheromones, his cock stiffening slightly in appreciation of the stranger's good looks.
"Paper?? Fuck that, mate. I want that bleedin' seat Sani-Wrapped for my protection. God knows what could squirm up me wee virginal bumhole if I park it on the upholstery." A slim Black man claimed the seat on May's other side, a perfect tumble of tight sooty curls bouncing around a cherubic face lit with an ironic grin.
"Now, Nigel—it's not worse than that dreadful bus station in Queens---good lord, is that you, Mayland?" The dignified bearing of the ancient, elegant man in seat 14C belied his many years, but Dr. Simon Rogers eyes hadn't lost a glimmer of their keenness—or their kindness. "How fortuitous! Roy told us you'd be skipping the festivities—oh, where are my manners? Nigel, this is Mayland Alexander Hughes. He's the solicitor for the Elric family and has been our Roy's chum since they were schoolboys back at Berkeley. Mays, I want you to meet Roy's nephew. Dr. Nigel Warmamaloo Rogers, from New South Wales."
"Good on yer,Hughey."
"Er…that's Hughes."
"Yeah, whatever, mate."
"Ah…so…you and Roy…?"
"Never met the feller. He and me dad Jon are the family bastards, back from the Ol' Colonel's days of fuckin' a girl in every port in the Pacific. Family not keen on him, his mum bein' a Jap, 'cos of the war and all. Heh. Like they don't mind that my grandmum was Tribal. Ol' Colonel Mustang got around, eh? But when Uncle Simon set his mind to goin' to this wedding in the ass end of nowhere and him bein' two days older than the wrinkled oldfeller hangin' between God's knees, I says to meself, 'Hey Nige—be a decent bloke an' get the old man to the church an' home again." He nodded fondly at the old doctor. "Uncle Roy was like a son to him, he was, so I'm along to do the donkeywork and to sort out the muck bits of this excercion."
Ol' Colonel Mustang got around, eh? Mays' tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth. He took in Dr. Nigel's features, his disarming smile, his obvious flair for sarcasm. His mind did some swift calculations and when the tally was told the figures didn't comfort him.
"…his mom bein' a Jap….my grandmum was Tribal…Ol' Colonel Mustang got around, eh?"
Shit.
"Dr. Rogers…about Roy's dad—"
Dr. Nigel Warmamaloo Rogers smirked as he leaned back into his seat, thumbing open a copy of The New England Journal Of Pediatrics. "No worries, Huey. So the old man's family ain't too proud of us half-breeds. Ol' Colonel liked his dark meat and his sushi, reckon. I'm all right, sonny jim. Me dad was a good bloke. Had a good life away from all the rat bastards back in Blackpool. Uncle Simon," he regarded the old man warmly, "he was the only one who gave a shit about Roy or me dad. Dad passed on years ago, never met his own brother. I figger us bastards ought to stick together,reckon? Nobody lives forever, y'know."
Hughes was digesting this just as a wave of whispers rolled over the aisles…
God…it's…him…Can't be! Why would he be traveling to Ranamurte?
Same lank brown hair. Same shades.
"Holy shit—that's Johnny Depp!" Hughes dug in his pocket for his cell phone to get a snap for Gracia, who had loved the actor since Benny and Joon.
"No tattoo with his son's name on the forearm." The blue eyed hunk to Hughes' right drawled casually. "My lover's mad for him. Good thing I left him back in Cardiff to mind the store or he'd be behaving like an idiot right about now. But he'll have more fun staying…." He aprraised Hughes like a slab of raw Kobe beef. His smile sent sparks through Mays' shorts. "And I'll get to make new friends." He offered a well manicured hand. "I'd buy you a drink if I knew your name."
"M-Mays. I'm an attorney from the west coast."
"Call me Jack. I run a private research institute in Cardiff, Wales."
"What kind of institute?" Hughes inquired.
"Mmmmm…time management."
ABOARD THE MARY READE…
Captain Armstrong had hinted broadly that the Elric clan would be set up for supper in her small, private dining quarters below decks once the festivities kicked into high gear. And, truthfully, it hadn't been a bad idea. The Captain's Mess featured a table large enough to seat the whole family, and a charming Cuban woman named Milagra stuffed Alphonse and his family with an amazing array of Cuban-Carribean dishes, such as frijoles negros con arroz, pastellitos, congri and delicious flan, dripping with warm dulce con leche, which left Alphonse scrapping up the last creamy dabs from his plate so eagerly that Ai inquired if she could get the recipe for him, which made the younger Elric brother flush right up to his eyebrows.
The Havocs were both somewhat fluent in Spanish and began negotiating for more recipes for the menu at L'heure Bleu. Edwin glanced up and noted that his aunt Teddy was eyeing him with gentle concern. "Get enough to fill you up?"
"What? Oh, yeah. It was great."
"Not feeling queasy, are you? Good. Edo's the only Elric who doesn't sail well. "
"That's
'cause of his arm—"
"Shhhh. Not here," she cautioned. "But yeah. He's flown
supersonic and never blew his lunch. Even rode the Vomit Comet
at NASA and came out without a wobble. " She shuddered. "Brrrr!
If it had been me, I'd have thrown up everything, even my
shoelaces! He flew supersonic even before Chuck Yeager—bugged the
hell out of Edo that he and …Herr
Heiderich…couldn't
ever take the credit for what they did in Munich."
Edwin nodded. Edward had been strapped into a rocket plane and shot through the Gateway when Ed's German lover attempted to send Ed home to rejoin his family and friends back home in Amestris. "So if he gets so seasick, what's he doing on deck with all those….women?"
"Spending a little quality time with Taisa. They haven't had much privacy since we left Charleston." She was smiling now, imagining her uncle and best friend topside under the stars, probably twining their bodies together in a hot salsa or Argentine tango. Dance with him, she'd suggested to her uncle. "Dancing is fucking standing up, right? Words get in the way with you two. Don't tell him you love him. Show him with your body."
"Christ, Teddy! I can't believe that's coming out of your mouth! What the hell's gotten into you?"
"Jean Havoc's gotten into me—and taught me a little about how important it is not to let love slip away. Don't fuck this up, Edo—please!"
The ship's radio crackled to life. "ATTENTION—ATTENTION ALL HANDS. THIS IS THE CAPTAIN. THE MARY READE HAS NOW OFFICIALLY CROSSED INTO INTERNATIONAL WATERS. "
Alphonse stared at the speakers. "Is there some sort of significance to that, Ms. Milagra?"
"Si, Senor Elric. It means the dancing is about to start." She glanced pointedly at the three men around the table. "Ladies only, comprende?" She offered fine Cuban cigars to the adults. Jeanne-Marie snatched one up and lit it up defiantly. Havoc shook his head. "Ma Petite Ange, she will not kiss me if I light up," and jammed a carrot disconsolately into the corner of his mouth to a chorus of laughter around the table.
…which was abruptly interrupted by drums. "What the hell—?"
A loud ululation ripped though the ship, accompanied by cheers and whistles. Teddy blanched, dropped her fork. "Ohhh…shit, I didn't even think of—EDWIN, don't get out of your seat!"
A moment later Edward and Taisa shot through the cabin door like their rectums were on fire, slamming it behind them. Milagra cackled wickedly as she excused herself.
Edward slumped to the table theatrically. "My eyes…oh, god…my eyes…"
Mustang patted his lover's back sympathetically. "Come on, Edward," he smirked. "Get a hold of yourself. You've seen naked women before. "
"Not…like…that."
"Okay, well, grated, most women don't paint their nipples blue and dance a naked conga around the mainmast while waving strap on dildoes at people!"
"Not people, Ed. Just you."
"You son of a—"
A crisp chord was struck on an acoustic guitar, each note ringing clearly down the companionway. "Annnd the fullll moooon---is a vagiiina spread wiiiide, so full of possibilities…"
Ed's hand crept towards one of the carving knives. "Seppuku," he grated through clenched teeth. "generally requires the use of a tanto. In a pinch, a Henckels should adequately—"
"ED!" Alphonse snatched the blade out of his brother's hand.
Jeanne-Marie grinned at Mustang. "Cher, your man look like he about to be done in by estrogen poisoning. 'Spect you got de antidote, no?"
"Daddy and Edwin can squeeze in with us. Why don't you gentlemen go take a shower and go rehearse for your wedding night?" Teddy offered.
An expectant silence hung over the dinner table. Roy said nothing. Finally, Edward reached for cold Corona from the ice box. "We're saving it for the wedding, actually."
"Right. Ed wants that white dress of his to actually mean something," Roy purred, patting his partner condescendingly on the shoulder, "so he's keeping his legs crossed until the wedding night…"
. Ed slammed the Corona long neck into his lover's midsection with an ominous growl and stomped off down the hall for the showers, pointedly ignoring the whoops of laughter that followed his retreat.
Edward was rolled up like a shrimp burrito in his blanket. An antenna of bright hair poked out of the folds, catching the light when Taisa opened the curtains to let the moonlight into the tiny cabin He'd told Al and Edwin to stay in the cabin, 'to protect Ed's virtue'. Still, after Roy had showered and returned to their cabin he stared at the wad of blanket huddled miserably on the top bunk and chuckled softly under his breath. Bless you, Jeanne-Marie. I would never have thought of staging a naked conga line to distract Ed from how terrified he is of crossing deep water. Jeanne had cooked up the suggestion, knew the Captain well enough to arrange things and Teddy had managed to keep the rest of them below decks for maximun effect. At least you weren't thinking about drowning.
"Move over. God, you're such a bed hog. How am I supposed to share a bunk with you if you take your half in the middle?"
A metal hand wormed its way to the surface, middle finger first.
"I love you too."
The shrimp burrito grumbled, unrolled itself, captured its intended victim and rerolled itself. A bit less tidy—a great deal more content.
Below in the opposite bunk, Edwin gingerly pulled his fingers from his ears. This had been what he had been most afraid of—what nauseated and scared him so. Them. Doing IT. Only…only they weren't. The sound of quiet kisses, a few contented murmurs and then they were still.
Aphonse leaned down, the moonline liming his face. "It's all right," he told his great grandson. "It's only love. Go back to sleep, okay?"
"Okay. G'night, sir." Pause. "G-goodnight, Edo. Goodnight, Taisa."
"'Night, Edwin."
"See you in the morning, kid."
The shrimp burrito in the top rack began to snore gently.
Only love?
He'd loved his mother, Christine. She abandoned him and his father.
He'd love his father, Fritz…and now he was gone, too.
He'd loved Aunt Teddy—and now she had Izumi, she still somehow managed to have room in her heart to hold him. He loved Uncle Jean—and, yes, even the Old Swamp Witch. And Great Alphonse had never let him down. He swallowed hard against a burning in his throat and risked a glance towards the snoring bundle of blankets and arms. Edo's head was pillowed on Mustang's shoulder. Both of them were smiling as they slept. His heart opened a little wider. "Only love? Okay. I'll take your word for it." And he let the purr of the engines lull him into a blessedly dreamless sleep.
Milagra had offered to share her cabin with Ai-san, Jeanne-Marie and little Izumi so that Teddy and Havoc could have a little privacy and sleep in. "I am missing mis nietos, my grandchildren," she explained. "This is a good life, but it takes me from mi falmilia, mi corazon, " she laid her hand over her heart. "I am only too glad to help out with the little one."
Eight bells into middle watch she slipped down the to the galley to warm up a fresh bottle and to put out fresh coffee for the women coming in on the first bell of morning watch, about half an hour from now. She'd checked her ice supply, counted her eggs, sampled a bit of the morning's coffee cake—Captain Armstrong had a mighty sweet tooth—and headed back to the cabin, planning to feed, change and settle Izumi back into her travel bed before heading topside and taking breakfast orders from the watch crew.
The man in blue was blocking her access to the companionway, as if he had exited her cabin and was heading topside like the rest of morning watch. "Excuse me, Senor Mustang," she nodded. "I'm bringing the baby her breakfast."
"Carry on." He saluted her crisply. Then he marched straight through her.
Her own mug of hot café smashed to the deck as she crossed herself. "Jesu, hijo de Maria!" she gasped.
He glanced cooly over his shoulder. "Hardly." He evaporated like mist as she slumped to the deck making strangled, confused noises, not altogether certain if she had been visited by an angel or demon.
"Would somebody kindly tell me what the fuck is up with these people this morning?" Ed slammed down his coffee mug, splashing cold coffee all over his suitcase. The whole Elric party had been rousted out of their beds and herded into the Captain's Mess, along with all their belongings. The door had been locked, damn it, and Armstrong had given no explanation, other than it was a 'security issue'. Food and drink had been left for them, along with word that the would be docking around 10 am, local time. "Goddamn it, Mays—answer the phone! That's what I pay you for!" He kept jabbing at his iPhone and swearing under his breath. "Who the fuck does she think she is, locking us up like a bunch of criminals?"
"I didn't do anything," Edwin muttered defensively.
"For once," Ed snapped back
"Ed! That's not fair," Al protested. "Besides, I was up before the rest of you. He's been here all night."
"I was with Teddy," Havoc stated firmly. "And Maman and Ai-san were with Milagra in her cabin—"
"Speakin' of whom, she was supposed t' bring Izumi her breakfast early this mornin'. She woke us all up, wet and cryin' an' pissed off wid hunger, yeah. Our petite didn't get no breakfast 'til now." Indeed, the baby was in a foul temper, squawking iritably between gulps from her bottle in spite of Teddy's cuddling and soothing words.
"Got 'im!" Ed gestured for silence. "Hughes! Are you—good. Get your ass down to the docks by ten—get Paninya to arrange a van for us. No, I'm not letting that Armstrong bitch give us a ride in—crazy Amazon has us corralled in the mess like a bunch of fuckin' cattle! No, I don't know why—but you're sure as hell going to find out and sue her ass right back to the Age of Piracy!"
"You're sure about this, Milagra? You not just nippin' the 141?"
"No, amiga. I saw him. No mistake. Un zombi camina entre nosotros, mi hermana. You must be careful, Paninya. You will believe when you see the nino. The Cajun cannot be the father of that child. The zombi Mustang must have fathered it on the Elric woman. And the pequeno hombre, el enojado, the angry little man—such strength he has. When they were moved to the mess, he tore the knob right off the door to his cabin and put his fist straight through a steel bulkhead! They are dangerous!"
HOPE SPRINGS RESORT, REPUBLIC OF RANAMUERTE
Hughes had torn out of the room and down to reception, leaving his Blackberry, his room key and his underwear in Suite 410. His companion rang for room service, ordering a pot of coffee—"embargo be damned, just get it"—bacon and eggs, a ham steak with red-eye gravy and a copy of the New York Times. While waiting he rang Cardiff, gratified to learn that everything was running smoothly. "See no Weevil, hear no Weevil," he'd been told. "Good. I've got a feeling I'm going to have my hands full with the Elric mess." The newest Elric mess, he'd been reminded. There was that nasty business with Echart and Hess in Munich back in 1920's. He'd known Hohenheim, of course. Everybody knew Hohenheim, from Hitler to Churchill. Why he played both sides of the war was anybody's guess, but he'd been clear about one thing—downright obsessed, if you wanted the truth of it:
All Hohenheim Elric had wanted in the 1920's was to send his son back home.
"The Twenty-First Century. That's when it all begins." He rubbed his face wearily. "Rifts and Gates. Damn. It's enough to put me off my breakfast." He spotted the Colt Commando dildo, lying spent from the night's frolic. Hughes would have to come back for it. He imagined that the Elrics didn't have a clue their solicitor had such depraved proclivities—that could be used to his advantage should Hughes be unwilling to spill the beans about why a man named Denny Brosh had been poking around certain very old stones outside Cardiff, as well as a cave outside Disneyworld and a certain mountain passage on this isle of poision frogs where the "love that dares not speak its name" never shut the hell up.
He jabbed at his laptop, retrieving the file. "Elric—Hohenheim. Killed in Munich, 1923. Elric—Edward, born approx. 1899 in Risembool, Amestris. Arrived in London on the night of…"
…TO BE CONTINUED….