The sun slid past
Porbeagle’s horizon, and made its daily trek into the sky. As light swept over the coastal town, its
denizens began their morning routine.
Birds -- seagulls among them -- chirped and cawed, and started their
search for morning meals. The shadows
that once ruled the town’s short buildings sank into the cracks, allowing each
weathered brick to take in the rays and the heat. Cars started heading out for work, going from
the tops of sloped hills to the stores at the bottom; at least half of them
broke off and headed for the ports, or the docks, or wherever they’d left their
boats. If they could see the sparkling
sea, then they had no reason to avoid a good day’s work.
Porbeagle’s regular,
everyday activity -- all of it, in tempo with the waves splashing against its
coast -- had grown into a part of the town.
A natural alarm clock, of sorts; in spite of its small size (or maybe because
of it), the launching of its fleet and the motion of its people lent the town
its character. Plenty of people woke up
with a smile thanks to the sea-heavy symphony.
But not Lloyd. Not today, at least. He woke up because apparently, someone had
decided to clamp his hands in a vise.
“Big” didn’t even begin
to describe him. Supposedly, he stood at
six foot ten since he’d started high school, and he had yet to lose a single
inch of that to age. But most would
argue he looked even bigger than that; many feared that it was only a matter of
time before his squared-off shoulders got caught in a doorway, and his stout
stomach could probably hold more than a beer keg. His arms and legs alike looked as if he
smuggled entire pigs beneath his skin, and his hands (still moments away from
crushing Lloyd’s geisha-like digits) could no doubt wrap around a whole
watermelon.
To say nothing of his
face. A jaw so wide, it needed its own
car lanes. A hefty brow and even heftier
black eyebrows. A nose borrowed from a
Moai statue. A black beard and mustache
as thick as any forest, accompanied by a matching pair of mutton chops. Tiny brown eyes, barely noticeable thanks to
his girth, but easily felt by any prey he chose to stare down.
And currently, he gave
Lloyd his famous stare down. A low
rumble echoed from his throat, and his lips started to part. He opened his mouth, letting the scent of a
thousand steaks drift into the air.
Finally, he spoke, in a voice that made the entire room quiver.
“Daddy’s so glad you’re
okay, Lloyd.”
Lloyd nodded
rapidly. “S-same here, Dad,” he said
with a wobbling smile. “Do you think you
could let go of my hand now? You’re kind
of turning it into dust.”
Patton let go in an
instant, and tucked his hands behind his back.
As he did, Lloyd noticed his attire: a gray shirt -- one still damp with
tears, he noted -- and a paint-splattered apron, along with some stained
overalls underneath. “Sorry, son. Daddy was at the convention, but as soon as
word got out that you’d been in an accident, I ran back here as fast as I
could.”
“I appreciate the
sentiment -- really, I do. But there’s
no need to wo-”
“I mean, I literally
ran here. I had to smash a few cars in
the process, but I’d do anything for my boy.
Anything.” He slapped Lloyd atop the shoulder; for a
moment, the prince thought he’d heard it split from the rest of his body.
“Yes, it’s comforting
to know you care, Da-”
“It caused a pretty big
mess, but it was worth it to be by your side, son. I even got in a few fights for your
sake.” He raised a fist into the
air. “You shouldn’t have crossed me, you
old hag!”
“I think he gets the
point.”
Lloyd peeked past
Patton’s shoulder. He hadn’t even
noticed that he showed up, too. An
easy mistake to make; that four (and a half!) foot pipsqueak could hide in the
shadow of a hamster if he wanted to. But
what he lacked in size, he compensated with a cool air. He hadn’t bothered making any physical
contact with his big brother, or even shown any signs that he loved him; he just
stayed in his chair, one leg folded atop another, and gave Lloyd a chilly
gaze.
He clasped his hands,
though it was hard to tell thanks to the much-too-large hoodie he’d thrown on. The belt to his black shorts had been
tightened well beyond their max -- he had to poke a few extra holes into the
leather -- and his high tops no doubt concealed rather tiny feet…and added a
few inches. In spite of his vertical
issues, he looked more mature than Lloyd, or even Patton at times; true, he had
the ruffled brown hair of any given tween, but those hazel eyes of his and that
stoic frown were enough to dissuade even the most malicious of muggers from
going on the attack.
Lloyd raised a hand and
offered a smile. “Ah, it’s good to see
you, my bro-”
“Let’s skip the
theatrics for once, okay? Time is
money.” JP B. Hoigleheimer. Occupation?
Straight man. “I was hoping that
Dad and I would be able to get some real business going at the convention, but
thanks to your little…” He raised his
hands, and drew quotations in the air. “Mishap…we had to leave early. Really, Lloyd? A Ferris wheel? How’d you manage that?”
“It was a trick of the
fates.”
JP sighed. “I can’t tell if you’re brain’s broken or
not. You still talk like a loony, but on
the other hand, you’re talking like a loony.”
“Oh, really?” Lloyd leaned forward with a cat-like grin
plastered across his face. “At the very
least, I remember your full name.” He
pumped his eyebrows up and down. “Is
that proof enough for you, Judas Priest?”
JP winced and pulled
back in his chair. “I told you not to
call me that!” he snapped. He turned
quickly to Patton. “And why would you
ever agree to make that my name?!” he hissed.
“Your mother was a fan
of heavy metal,” Patton said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway, the important thing is that all
three of us are alive and well -- and once we get out of here, we can have some
steaks to celebrate.”
“Huzzah! Your big, hearty, sixteen-ounce T-bone steaks
are worthy of angelic chorus!” Lloyd declared, practically breaking into song
himself. “Granted, I’ve never been able
to finish a single one on my own, but I appreciate the effort!”
JP (still reeling at
the use of his full name) didn’t share the enthusiasm. “Hold on a minute, Dad. We should only eat a meal like that on
special occasions. Lloyd getting out of
the hospital from an accident he probably could have avoided easily --”
“What, did you want me
to dodge a Ferris wheel?” Lloyd whined.
“-- isn’t nearly big
enough to justify spending on big steaks.”
He reached into his hoodie’s front pocket and pulled out a
calculator. “Let’s see…in this economy,
and with the current prices of steaks in the local grocer, taking into account
the average market worth, compounded by the general supply and ease of
transport of meat into Porbeagle…”
“You’re such a miser,
Judas! How are you going to get the most
out of life if you pinch all your penni-“
JP gave him a quick
answer. He threw his calculator at
Lloyd’s forehead like a shuriken. “Who
gave you permission to use my first name?” he demanded; he leapt from his seat
and glared at his older brother, his frown now curled into a canine scowl. “Didn’t I tell you there’s a fee for that? Pay up!
Better hurry, interest rates are high!”
But Lloyd merely raised
his chin in derision. “My my, what have
we here?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest. “So the guppy thinks himself a loan
shark? Why, Shakespeare himself couldn’t
have written a better persona!”
JP slapped a hand on
the bed. “I’m warning you. You’re already in the hospital -- you’d
better not mess with me!”
“Oh, so you want to
throw hands? Be my guest, little
brother! I’d be happy to show you your
place!”
And throw hands they
did -- they flapped their hands at each other, trying and failing to get in the
first slap. “Ow, ow, ow! No nails!” Lloyd whined as JP’s finger
scraped his palm. “Nails are cheating!”
“YOU’RE cheating!” JP
fired back.
But Patton had had
enough (and felt no small amount of shame in the fact that he’d seen babies who
fought better than them). He seized both
his sons in a headlock, one lodged between each bicep, and reeled them close to
his body. “What’s important is that
we’re here, and we’re happy. So there’s
no reason for us to fight. Got that?”
“Y-yes, Daddy,” Lloyd
and JP squeezed through their throats.
“Good. Daddy hates seeing his sons fight, so be sure
to get along.” He pulled his sons close
to his manly bosom. “Family’s gotta
stick together, even if it means snapping a few necks! But as long as you have friends in the lower
to mid-level judicial branch, you’ve got a better chance of not going to
court!”
Well, that was a worrisome non-sequitur, Lloyd thought as Patton
released the boys at last. Just what exactly are you doing at night?
JP -- after massaging
his wind pipe open -- gestured toward the door.
“At any rate, the doctor says you’ll be ready to go at the end of the
day. So we’ll be back later to get
you.” His brow tightened. “Try not to get run over by a roller coaster
while we’re gone.”
“I wouldn’t dream of
it,” said Lloyd. Patton and JP offered a
friendly nod and started toward the door, the latter muttering about ways to
recoup their losses. But before they could
head out, Lloyd held up a hand. “O-oh,
that reminds me. Did you two happen to
see a blonde-haired woman on your way in?”
He raised a hand above his head.
“About this tall, and wearing a swimsuit under an open shirt?”
Patton and JP exchanged
looks.
“She -- she spent the
night with me. She’s the one who saved me
after the accident; she said she was a surfer.”
“Surfer?” JP
repeated. “Lloyd, Porbeagle isn’t
exactly a town that’s famous for its surfing.
With all the ships going around, I doubt it’s even a good idea to try
it.”
“What? But she even threatened to clobber me with
her surfboard!”
JP turned to his dad
for support. “Sorry, Lloyd. We didn’t see anyone like that. You’re sure you’re feeling all right?”
Lloyd opened his mouth
to object, but decided to clam up. He
didn’t need to prove that Trixie wasn’t some sort of ghost, thanks to the glass
jar he’d thrown earlier (he spotted a few shards under the chair, no doubt
missed by the nurse’s morning sweep). But
without a lead on where his savior had gone, he didn’t see much use in dwelling
on the subject. He’d find her soon
enough. And of course, there was still a
bigger matter to attend to.
He stroked his
chin. That audition room could prove very useful to me -- IF I can harness its power. He stared furtively at his father and
brother. And these two may be just who I need to make that power mine.
Patton scratched his
head and looked at JP. “Did he always
look that evil?” he asked.
“If by evil you mean
‘looks like a villain from a Saturday morning cartoon,’ then yes.” JP watched as Lloyd twirled his (imaginary)
moustache. “By the way, am I adopted?”
TO BE HEARTINUED...
I love your staging, combined with interesting characters it's very easy for me to get drawn in and want to read more.
ReplyDeleteNote: I love the dad. Classic.
Very funny stuff. I agree with dimanagul, your staging is impecable, sets things up very well. I love the brotherly bickering. Great work!
ReplyDeleteWhen it comes to brotherly bickering, I have a fair bit of experience. (Though back in the day, we settled things with our beloved grass fights...at least until we realized that all the biting, stinging bugs in the backyard would ALWAYS win.)
ReplyDelete