Kicking and screaming? You're having another baby?! Congratulations!
Kicking and Screaming "Dust. Dust gets everywhere." Kevin looked around, his vision blurred and his eyes refusing to focus, his thoughts confused and his head hot, and... sticky? "Dust gets...." He hiccoughed, and something in his hand spilled. That seemed wrong, but it took several seconds to work out where his hand was, and then another couple to get enough poor-quality focus to see that he was holding a glass. A martini glass. "Dry," he muttered. "Dry martini. Dry as dust...." He hiccoughed again, and giggled. "Mr Gway?" He looked up, that was a woman's voice. He tried to sit upright, but realised he already was, he was somehow squeezed between something that was holding him in the right place. He set the glass down, realising only afterwards that he'd not checked that there was a table there first, and smiled. Something on his face cracked and splinters fell off. "That's me," he said, keeping his voice as steady as possible. "E. Kevin Gway. You have me at a disadvantage, ma'am." "I certainly do," said the voice. "You're not even looking at me. Tell me, Mr. Gway, do you like it here in Cuba?" "Dust gets everywhere," he said, reaching for words that seemed oddly familiar. "I could do without the dust." "You could do with getting cleaned up," said the voice. "Ideally before the boss gets here, but he'll do a better job of it himself." "Who are you? Where are you?" Kevin wriggled, trying to see who was speaking, and discovered that he was very tightly squeezed in place. He stopped wriggling and looked at what was holding him there, and discovered that it was two Amazonian women, both wearing combat vests, Lara Croft shorts and looks of disdain. His libido lurched just as his stomach somersaulted. "Valerie," said the voice. "Brunnhilde is the lady on the other side of you." "Huh?" Kevin was aware this was not his most eloquent, and tried again. "I mean, you're stunning, well both of you are, and I'd love to show you my room. It's upstairs. Well, it is if we're still in the Finca Vigia." "Sort of," said a much deeper voice from the doorway.
It was a sensation like a shower: a sudden hit of something cold that rapidly covered his skin and pounded on it. As quickly as it started it passed, and then the cold seemed to seep deeper and deeper in, somehow burning off the alcohol, the sleep poisons, the remnants of the opium. His vision returned and the cold light of a stormy day hurt his eyes while something like the tingle of absinthe on the tongue hurt his brain. As the pains cascaded down his head and through his body he wondered for a moment if he was remembering being born. "Kicking and screaming," said the deep voice, and he remembered now that he was here in Cuba, again, working for War. "Whether it's out there in the combat zone, or in here reviving you to do your job again, it's always kicking and screaming. Just for once I'd like it to be dancing and singing." "On a battlefield?" Kevin still felt as though he was fizzy, but his mind was back, as were the memories, and they were the reason he'd been drinking -- best not to go down that route again at the moment. War pouted. "A musical number would be nice," he said. Valerie laughed, her voice melodic. "A hundred years ago you were listening to Wagner and you wanted operatic arias," she said. "What were you watching last night then?" "Riverdance," said War. "More kicking and screaming, if you ask me." He looked over at Kevin. "Right," he said. "Ready for some more reportage?"
War is a delight in this scenario. I love that he has Amazonian helpers. And I'm not sure what Kevin's story is but I look forward to learning more of it!
2 comments:
Kicking and screaming? You're having another baby?! Congratulations!
Kicking and Screaming
"Dust. Dust gets everywhere." Kevin looked around, his vision blurred and his eyes refusing to focus, his thoughts confused and his head hot, and... sticky? "Dust gets...." He hiccoughed, and something in his hand spilled. That seemed wrong, but it took several seconds to work out where his hand was, and then another couple to get enough poor-quality focus to see that he was holding a glass. A martini glass. "Dry," he muttered. "Dry martini. Dry as dust...." He hiccoughed again, and giggled.
"Mr Gway?"
He looked up, that was a woman's voice. He tried to sit upright, but realised he already was, he was somehow squeezed between something that was holding him in the right place. He set the glass down, realising only afterwards that he'd not checked that there was a table there first, and smiled. Something on his face cracked and splinters fell off.
"That's me," he said, keeping his voice as steady as possible. "E. Kevin Gway. You have me at a disadvantage, ma'am."
"I certainly do," said the voice. "You're not even looking at me. Tell me, Mr. Gway, do you like it here in Cuba?"
"Dust gets everywhere," he said, reaching for words that seemed oddly familiar. "I could do without the dust."
"You could do with getting cleaned up," said the voice. "Ideally before the boss gets here, but he'll do a better job of it himself."
"Who are you? Where are you?" Kevin wriggled, trying to see who was speaking, and discovered that he was very tightly squeezed in place. He stopped wriggling and looked at what was holding him there, and discovered that it was two Amazonian women, both wearing combat vests, Lara Croft shorts and looks of disdain. His libido lurched just as his stomach somersaulted.
"Valerie," said the voice. "Brunnhilde is the lady on the other side of you."
"Huh?" Kevin was aware this was not his most eloquent, and tried again. "I mean, you're stunning, well both of you are, and I'd love to show you my room. It's upstairs. Well, it is if we're still in the Finca Vigia."
"Sort of," said a much deeper voice from the doorway.
It was a sensation like a shower: a sudden hit of something cold that rapidly covered his skin and pounded on it. As quickly as it started it passed, and then the cold seemed to seep deeper and deeper in, somehow burning off the alcohol, the sleep poisons, the remnants of the opium. His vision returned and the cold light of a stormy day hurt his eyes while something like the tingle of absinthe on the tongue hurt his brain. As the pains cascaded down his head and through his body he wondered for a moment if he was remembering being born.
"Kicking and screaming," said the deep voice, and he remembered now that he was here in Cuba, again, working for War. "Whether it's out there in the combat zone, or in here reviving you to do your job again, it's always kicking and screaming. Just for once I'd like it to be dancing and singing."
"On a battlefield?" Kevin still felt as though he was fizzy, but his mind was back, as were the memories, and they were the reason he'd been drinking -- best not to go down that route again at the moment.
War pouted. "A musical number would be nice," he said. Valerie laughed, her voice melodic. "A hundred years ago you were listening to Wagner and you wanted operatic arias," she said. "What were you watching last night then?"
"Riverdance," said War. "More kicking and screaming, if you ask me." He looked over at Kevin. "Right," he said. "Ready for some more reportage?"
Greg - haaaaaaa hah.
War is a delight in this scenario. I love that he has Amazonian helpers. And I'm not sure what Kevin's story is but I look forward to learning more of it!
Post a Comment