Spontoon Island
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31 January 2010
| "The I Do's of
March"
by M. Mitchell Marmel & E.O. Costello © 2007-9 by M. Mitchell Marmel and E.O. Costello Willow Fawnsworthy, Reggie Buckhorn, Franklin Stagg, Orrin Brush, Leslie duCleds, Kara Karoksdottir, Charles Foster Crane, Inocenta du Cleds (nee de Ciervos), Carlos de Ciervos, Senora de Ciervos © Eric Costello Rosie Baumgartner, © M. Mitchell Marmel Marryin’ Sam and Lulubelle Mae Brunswick © E.O Costello and M. Mitchell Marmel Brenda and Covina Johnson © Walter D. Reimer Part Fifteen
“Ja, ja, ja, ja! Weiss nicht wie gut ich dir bin!” “This is neither right nor proper! YIEAAAA!” ***
Reggie: We found out a lot later that the Baron had managed to land the plane fairly safely, touching down on a soft, sandy beach not very far away. They’re still trying to dig it out. Senor de Ciervos was abandoned by his friend, poor chap, to work out his frazzled nerves on his own. Baron von Kojote was in a bit of a state, however. (I had Lodge explain it, and wished I hadn’t asked. Who knew the birds and bees could get so complicated?) As the Baron thundered in, Les was giving the Baronin a few last pointers while Inocenta watched. “Now, you should use an overpaw grip, Baronin, and straighten your elbow . . . “ “Gracias, Senor duCleds.” What followed was a sound not unlike a cocoanut striking concrete. Hard. ***
Les: Po’na and I lugged the Baron into the restaurant proper to keep him out of sight of the ladies. I think that the Baronin had a bright future ahead of her. Batting for the Phillies, that is. On inspection, Heinrich had been wearing only a flight helmet, goggles, gloves and a leather overcoat. Not a stitch else. The Baronin sighed. “It is as I feared. Since I became pregnant, I should have foreseen this.” “Que, Baronin?” Inocenta asked. “Si. It is something I heard about from one of his squadron-mates. When an officer of the Emperor hops around on all fours, naked as the day he is born and demanding that he be whipped by a cheap tart riding him like a cowboy – well, the regiment had to draw the line somewhere, no?” I gulped. “I . . . I didn’t wish to know that.” ***
Inocenta: Inocenta wish to know! Inocenta wish to know more about the riding of the boy cows! ***
Les: Inocenta seemed entirely too eager to hear more. And the Baronin was helpful. “Neither did we, Senor duCleds. But, you see, they had no choice. Heinrich *would* have these fits in the middle of the planes taking off and landing.” My wife suddenly pounced on me and asked, “Leslie-puppy! How you feel after the riding of the plane?” I maintained a dignified silence. Some subjects are best left for closed doors. With the locks set. ***
Willow: It had to happen eventually, I suppose. I knew that there was no love lost at all between Po’na and Sergeant Brush, but come on – at a wedding reception? Brush was standing there, looking uncomfortable in his morning suit. Po’na was contemplating the array of food when a shifty look crossed his face. (Oh, no.) We should stop it. (Of course. Disgraceful behavior.) As I started to walk over, Po’na picked up a custard tart and tapped Brush on the shoulder. ***
Rosie: Ten out of ten for Durian Face. He was waiting for Po’na to do something, and may have caught his approaching scent. At any rate, Po’na tapped him on the shoulder and Brush turned and hit him between the eyes with a heavily-glazed doughnut. Po’na staggered back and threw the tart he had in his paw, missing Brush by a country mile and catching Willow in the nose. ***
Willow: Why, that dirty . . . Where’s one of those tarts? (Sigh.) Hush, Grace. There are larger principles involved, now. ***
Rosie: Kara got into the middle of it. “Stop it, both of you! This is supposed to be a happy occasion!” She might have said more, but Po’na chose that moment to empty the gallon bowl of rose-petal-laced fondant over Kara’s head. Yum! Glazed vixen, anyone? Gotta remember that for the Lotus’ Christmas party. Po’na stepped back to study the effect and said, “Po’na agree occasion happy one. Happier now than previous. Karok-son-Karok agree?” Brush looked at his sister, who was standing there speechless in rage as the glaze and petals congealed on her. He shrugged. “Works fer me, Po’na. Let’s go get a beer.” “Karok have excellent idea.” And the two walked out. I shook my head. Tomorrow they were in for it. For today . . . looks like male solidarity wins out. next |