Tagged: tune in next time

Fleur Stayed Riveted to the Battle

  • by jenone of the animal’s spongy feet
  • an explosive movement
  • noticed a strange mark
  • “No son of mine will be
  • watch your fat feet

Tune in next time part 329      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur stayed riveted to the battle outside the zeppelin’s windows, radioing instructions to her fighter jets and the aircraft carrier’s captain. Meanwhile Isolde crooned a lullaby to her stomach, and the babies’ mascots danced and fidgeted nervously. The rainbow armadillo lurched close to me and one of the animal’s spongy feet came down on the top of my fancy dress shoes.

“Ouch!” I complained, but the rest of my outcry was preempted by an explosive movement below us in the water. The viscount’s submarine floundered on the waves, spewing flames.

“Yes!” cried Fleur. “We’ve got him now!”

The armadillo clapped its big, plush hands, its head tipped back in hysterical laughter. The costume gapped between the oversized head and the squishy neon chest plate. Through the gap I could see the person’s neck and noticed a strange mark on the skin, a birthmark in the shape of a mushroom. My blood turned to ice.

Fleur directed her pilots to strafe the baby-shaped submarine. “No son of mine will be raised by a Svenborgian.” She spat the last word. “And no daughter, either.”

The armadillo was becoming more agitated by the second. It stomped on me again, edging toward Fleur’s seat.

“Why don’t you watch your fat feet, Viscount?” I said. With one hand I scooped my daughter out of the armadillo’s front carrier, while with the other I yanked the bobbly mascot head off, exposing Arlo’s bald head and eyepatch. With that mushroom birthmark it was no wonder he always wore turtlenecks.

Fleur and Isolde gasped to find the traitor aboard our zeppelin.

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I Was Sure That Fleur

  • by Kenthurts our brains
  • gladden the hearts
  • thinking that it really must be something else
  • another licking kiss
  • I got a history with cowboys

Tune in next time part 330      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I was sure that Fleur would tell me to fling Viscount Arlo from the gondola so he might tumble into the flaming wreckage that had so recently been his hideous submarine. But both she and Isolde seemed too shocked to utter a sound.

“Shall I toss him out?” I asked, shoving Arlo toward the exit. He was still laughing, though, and the sisters’ faces were growing paler.

“His laughter hurts our brains,” Isolde muttered.

“Gonna take that as a yes,” I grunted, hustling Arlo up against the door, pinning him by pressing the heel of my hand into his sternum. We stood like that while I tried to figure out the best way of unlatching the door without letting my prisoner slip free, and without dropping my baby girl. I knew seeing him flail on the way down would gladden the hearts that beat in a warlord’s daughter’s breasts.

“You mustn’t,” Fleur pleaded. I puzzled over the obvious meaning of her words, thinking that it really must be something else. Because why wouldn’t she want to be rid of this dick?

Viscount Arlo ran out of air at last, so we got half a second of quiet before his long, rasping inhalation began. His one eye seized my gaze, and then he ducked his chin to swipe his oily tongue across the back of my hand. I flinched, and he gave my hand another licking kiss.

“Stop that,” I grumbled. “It won’t spur me to release you.”

Arlo laughed again, shrill and loud. He crowed, “Spurs? What fun! You should know I got a history with cowboys.”

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Arlo Put His Unhinged Laughter Aside

  • by jenmaritime follies
  • asked to see the treasure map
  • his engine had an anti-siphon valve
  • “Quick!” said the boy.
  • his chair with his bare feet

Tune in next time part 331      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Arlo put his unhinged laughter aside and peered down at the flaming submarine and foundering aircraft carrier. “We aren’t going to let these trifling maritime follies come between us, are we Fleur my dear?” he asked in his most unctuous voice. “After all it wasn’t so long ago that you asked to see the treasure map tattooed upon my abdomen. We could toss this so-called husband of yours out of the zeppelin and continue the game of Candyland we were playing upon it.”

I’d had enough of this Svenborgian dick. I deftly tucked my infant daughter inside my morning suit’s jacket and buttoned it to hold her in place, then yanked the gondola door’s handle. The door swung outward and I shoved the viscount after it.

As he fell, a flap opened in the back of the armadillo costume, exposing a jetpack. It roared to life and Arlo flew away, flipping us off.

“What the hell!” I said.

“He mentioned his jetpack often in bed,” Fleur said. “But I assumed it was a euphemism. He liked to brag about how his engine had an anti-siphon valve.”

Isolde rushed forward and closed the gondola’s door.

I checked on the children to see if they were okay. My son was still strapped to the blue panda, and seemed to have the hiccups. “Quick!” said the boy. “Quick!” I wished he had a name. But more important than that right now was making sure that whoever was inside the panda costume was not another enemy.

“Isolde,” I said. “Why don’t you play with your nephew?”

“That will be good practice for motherhood!” she enthused. She scooped the boy out of his carrier while he continued to hiccup. She sat and made her lap his chair with his bare feet sticking out where she could tickle them.

I eyed up the blue panda.

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The Blue Panda And I Stared At Each Other

  • by Kentglue a rug to a hardwood floor
  • you mean an orgasm
  • like most parents
  • I know that it’s you
  • I bounded with my old agility

Tune in next time part 332      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The blue panda and I stared at each other in silent stillness. Slowly, it raised its right paw, then executed a perfect royal parade wave: elbow, elbow, wrist-wrist-wrist. The unexpected gesture stunned me, and the fuzzy mascot tried to use my momentary confusion to escape.

Of course, there was nowhere to hide in the zeppelin’s gondola. With a single belated leap I overtook and tackled the azure beast.

“Ah-ha!” I crowed, tugging on the panda’s head. But it wouldn’t come off. Anyone who’d permanently attach a costume’s head would probably glue a rug to a hardwood floor. Straddling my prone quarry, I pulled harder on the head. Muffled noises came from the costume’s occupant.

“That sounds like someone in the throes of passion,” Fleur drawled.

“Oh, you mean an orgasm,” Isolde chirped.

“Sister, please!” Fleur scolded. “Language!”

Like most parents, Fleur wanted to protect her offspring’s tender ears. I was more concerned with exposing more direct threats. If the armadillo had really been Viscount Arlo, then this creature was certain to be his accomplice.

“Your disguises were clever,” I grunted, “but go ahead and reveal yourself. I know that it’s you!”

I was bluffing, of course. I had no idea who might be working with Arlo. As I continued my struggle to remove the panda’s head, I couldn’t get the image of its waving paw out of my mind. Over and over it repeated: elbow, elbow, wrist-wrist-wrist. It felt like a code, but it wasn’t one of the Academy ciphers. Unless–

With a gasp, I bounded with my old agility off the panda’s back. “Oh!” I cried. “It is you!”

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The Blue Panda Rolled Onto His Back

  • by jenlike pickets in a fence
  • shimmered like a pigeon’s neck
  • I have always been fond of animals
  • neatly riveted and soldered
  • Dream scientists already know

Tune in next time part 333      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The blue panda rolled onto his back and stared up at me with enormous googly eyes. The teeth in his grin, once white and straight like pickets in a fence, were scuffed and dented from the gondola’s floor. A smudge of oil on his cheek shimmered like a pigeon’s neck. I have always been fond of animals, but not animal mascots, and certainly not mascots that have the heads neatly riveted and soldered into place to prevent their removal.

Dream scientists already know how this encounter in the zeppelin played out, because they can often see the future through the eyes of their slumbering subjects. I, though, was still in the dark.

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I Loomed Over The Panda

  • by Kentthe ferociousness of his kisses
  • sexy brunette in tight jeans
  • This is about your reputation?
  • But my best friend tried to kill me
  • a grimace and maybe some dried vomit

Tune in next time part 334      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I loomed over the panda, imagining the face behind that stubborn mask. A maniacal face, I was sure, a face wearing a grimace and maybe some dried vomit. On the other hand, maybe I had misread the situation. Maybe the panda and the armadillo hadn’t been in cahoots at all. Maybe the face would be familiar, even the face of my best friend.

But my best friend tried to kill me. He’d chained weights to my legs and trapped me in the tidal zone, and then he chased me with a harpoon. And it occurred to me that donning this ridiculous blue costume and attempting to kidnap an infant Contrarian royal was just the sort of thing he might do.

“I bet it really is you,” I muttered, shaking my head. “That’s why you made sure the mask won’t come off, and why you won’t speak. But what’s your angle? You’re trying to impress some syndicate boss? Or the ninjas? This is about your reputation? I bet that’s it, and my daughter is just a pawn in your pathetic, petty, game.” I leaned down and poked the panda’s belly. “John!”

The occupant of the mascot suit made a “hmph!” noise and sat up. The suit’s arms dangled limp, its wearer’s arms having been withdrawn into the bulbous torso. Soon there was a mechanical growling sound which it took me several seconds to identify as a heavy-duty zipper. The head tipped backwards and the neck seam finally opened up, unzipped from the inside. And I saw the face.

It was not John.

He stood up and stepped out of the costume, and I saw the effect he had on both Fleur and Isolde. Their eyes were glued to the sexy brunette in tight jeans, their mouths agape and eager to gauge the ferociousness of his kisses.

With hardly a glance at anyone else, he jutted his cleft chin at me.

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The Brunette Man’s Tight Jeans Were Sweaty

  • by jenseemed to me, judging from his fingers,
  • like sunny springtime afternoons come to life
  • on live television for five hours
  • there is liquor aboard
  • this creepy incognito turtle

Tune in next time part 335      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The brunette man’s tight jeans were sweaty, his torso bare. It seemed to me, judging from his fingers, all wrinkled and pruny — and of course those sweaty jeans — that it must have been a veritable sauna inside that panda suit. Fleur and Isolde didn’t seem to notice his dishevelment. Or perhaps they found it attractive. They looked at him like he was a vernal deity, like sunny springtime afternoons come to life. I knew he was used to that reaction. I saw him talk about it on live television for five hours on at least two occasions, and in person innumerable times. He was my brother Jim, and women really liked Jim.

Fleur smiled coquettishly at him and said, “Welcome to my zeppelin. There is liquor aboard.”

“What are you doing here, Jim?” I asked. “The last time I saw you was in Dr Belladonna’s subterranean rocket surgery.”

“What was I supposed to do? Leave my niece and nephew unguarded when I saw the viscount putting on this creepy incognito turtle costume?”

“It was an armadillo,” Isolde said, batting her eyelashes.

“How did you get on my wife’s aircraft carrier?” I demanded.

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“A Magician Never Reveals His Tricks”

  • by Kentmicrowaving isn’t just the best way
  • had a new family
  • get your guests in the mood to party
  • the odd, symbiotic relationship between sloths and moths
  • just saying what everyone’s thinking

Tune in next time part 336      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“A magician never reveals his tricks,” Jim drawled.

“You’re no magician!” I shot back. I really did want to know how he managed to board Fleur’s vessel.

Jim held up his hands. “We’re all on the same side, here,” he protested. “But I’ll give you just one hint: microwaving isn’t just the best way to make popcorn.” He winked, somehow giving all three of the other people in the zeppelin’s gondola the impression that the gesture was aimed at them. Fleur fanned herself, Isolde winked back, and I scowled at the obscure inside joke from our childhood. “Anyway,” he drawled on, “knowing you had a new family I felt duty-bound to offer some protection.”

I folded my arms and shook my head. “Do you honestly expect me to believe a word you say, after what happened the last time we met?”

He flashed a grin, which again made my wife and sister-in-law seem weak in the knees. “Hey, brother, don’t be so touchy about bygone days. Now that I’m here, I just want to get your guests in the mood to party.” He winked again, and all I could think about was how he had to know that these women weren’t my guests. What was his real game? Which faction was he working with? Their politics was filled with pretzel logic and arcane mutual dependencies as cryptic as the odd, symbiotic relationship between sloths and moths.

Isolde cleared her throat tremulously, and when she’d caught my eye she said, “Could you and Fleur, I don’t know, look out the windows for a bit?”

Jim chuckled. “She’s just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

“Not me,” I said. To Isolde I asked, “What would Harry say?”

“Who?” she responded in a sleepy voice.

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“You’ve Forgotten the Man You Married Just One Day Ago?”

  • by jenI got my eye on you
  • two urchins upon their knees
  • all the stains matched
  • also many gulls
  • their hideous noise increased

Tune in next time part 337      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“You’ve forgotten the man you married just one day ago?” I asked Isolde. “I am shocked by proxy.” I unbuttoned my jacket and handed my daughter to Fleur.

Fleur flashed a devilish smile. “Perhaps I should make you Harry’s proxy again, and while you’re tending to Isolde I can make Jim your proxy.”

“But you’ve just given birth!” Isolde cried, holding up my son as proof. “You can’t make proper use of him!”

“I got my eye on you,” I said, pointing at Jim. Turning back to Fleur and her sister I said, “He’s married to UnderDuchess Esmerelda of Svenborgia, you know. Probably in league with that dick Arlo.”

“At least you know I’m not hiding a jetpack,” Jim drawled, flexing his naked torso.

“A Svenborgian by marriage?” Fleur said. “Show me your papers.”

Jim hooked a finger into the pocket of his tight jeans and pulled out his diplomatic credentials. It featured the Svenborgian crest, an etching of the country’s first king and queen at a nude beach, sitting crosslegged on either side of a sandcastle, the two urchins upon their knees a spiky warning of Svenborgia’s maritime prowess. Most countries use intricate stamps and raised seals on their official documents, but Svenborgia prefers smudges made from a rare green coffee that is grown and brewed exclusively along the Svenborgian coast. Looking at Jim’s passport, all the stains matched the expected color, but the only way to be sure was to taste them. Fleur’s delicate tongue emerged from her mouth and flicked quickly across the uppermost green smear.

“It’s authentic,” she declared. “Yum. I’ve always loved that flavor.” As an aside to Isolde she said, “The viscount always let me lick his whenever we were together.”

I’d heard rumors that Svenborgia’s green coffee had hallucinogenic properties, which might explain what my wife saw in Arlo.

As the sisters continued their study of my brother’s credentials, I decided that someone needed to fly the zeppelin. I looked through the window and discovered that we were surrounded by seabirds. There were terns and albatrosses, and also many gulls. Many, many gulls. Soon their hideous noise increased so that their cries could be heard inside the gondola.

“Where exactly are we headed?” I asked Fleur.

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My Wife Bounced

  • by Kentfor an hour or two afterwards
  • nods of assent were exchanged
  • all of those are possibilities
  • “Then why don’t I have any grandchildren?”
  • I’m hoping to make it to my next birthday

Tune in next time part 338      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My wife bounced our baby daughter on her hip, still staring lasciviously at my brother’s seminude form across the gondola. The psychotropic coffee stains were definitely kicking in. My educated guess, based on what I could remember of the Academy pharmacology seminar, was that she’d peak in a few minutes and then have mild euphoria and perceptual dissociations for an hour or two afterwards.

In any case, she wasn’t answering my question.

“Fleur,” I prompted. “Are you still in there? Maybe I should take the baby back, yes?” Nods of assent were exchanged and I passed the little girl immediately to join her brother in Isolde’s arms. The twins’ aunt pouted at being doubly burdened and thus, presumably, that much more concealed from Jim.

“Now, where is this zeppelin going?” I demanded more firmly. Fleur quirked a tiny smile, her eyes still riveted to Jim. “Back to Contraria? Svenborgia? Or do you plan to risk venturing into US airspace?”

“All of those are possibilities,” she droned. “Take the helm. The gulls will guide you.” With that, her eyes slowly closed, and she began a twirling, waltz-like dance. “Children grow up so fast,” she lamented.

I glanced at the newborns Isolde cradled to her bosom. I shrugged. “They sure do.”

“Then why don’t I have any grandchildren?”

“Ask the kids,” I quipped.

All this time, Jim’s smirk had been making the rounds, and shifting its aspect like a color-changing lizard. When he aimed it at Fleur it was lewd, for Isolde it turned haughty, and for me he reserved mocking pity. I glared at him and barked, “Get over here and help me fly this thing.”

Jim sashayed across the gondola. Glancing at the controls, he said, “Looks pretty basic. Like, even you could fly it alone.”

“True, but you’re making trouble, and I’m hoping to make it to my next birthday, so I need to keep you busy so this doesn’t escalate into a brawl that culminates with seagulls picking our innards out of the wreckage.”

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