Even With Clyde in My Lap
fully aware of the ten sets of eyes- His Grace petitioned the Count
- Now he was bleeding
- too smart for that school
- I’d suggest no more than a thousand
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Even with Clyde in my lap, and Jim waving his camera around, I was fully aware of the ten sets of eyes — mime eyes — that were trained on my dancing sisters. I might still have a hope of escaping as long as Jem and Jem’s hypnotic cobra yoga held them entranced.
I had to make Jim see reason. “Our family has standards, Jim.”
“I don’t give a fuck about your standards, brother,” Jim snarled. “The fire eaters want to claim Jem, and I won’t have it! This is the only way to save her.”
“What’s the Lord Carnevale have to do with any of that?” I asked.
Jim sneered his first words. “His Grace petitioned the Count Flambé, leader of the largest fire eater guild, for Jem’s hand. Their marriage would seal a pact between those heartburn motherfuckers and the masked carnivalistos.”
I shuddered at the thought.
“So,” Jim continued, “I’m showing Lord Domino that we play hardball. If he doesn’t back off, something ugly will happen to Clyde.”
The little dog in my lap bared his teeth again, exposing the “woof” painted thereon.
The bicycling mime reentered the laboratory. Now he was bleeding from one nostril, and he had the Donut sister riding on his imaginary handlebars.
Jim tucked his camera into the pocket of his lab coat and grasped the Donut mime by the wrist. She began to flail about, hurling silent insults at us and at the Academy. The thrust of her nonverbal argument seemed to be that she was too smart for that school, but I distinctly remembered seeing her in its halls.
“Relax Ms Donut,” Jim said, thus perpetuating the mystery of which sister was which. “If you don’t calm down I’ll have to give you an injection.”
“I’d suggest no more than a thousand milliliters, and no less than nine hundred,” said Jemma. “Like most mimes she’s built up quite a tolerance.”
bonus points for using them in order