Weekend At Willies TCC CH 11 REVOLVE

Talk Shows On Mute   by Incubus

The Chauffeur had walked-in to a new body.  He felt the soft down-comforter over him and the plush pillows under his head.   

He did not open his eyes just yet.   

He did not want to lose this moment of bliss.

He savored it.   

He’d just come from the dark heart of the city, and even though it had been only moments ago,

well,

…it might as well have been a hundred years ago, considering how nested and nestled he now felt. 

He heard the soft, small breaths of someone nearby in the bed, and slightly further beyond, the breathing of someone who was not so young and small.

He lied in a bed as a husband to a wife, and they had a baby between them.

Christopher hadn’t felt such a thing before.  His own lady had not yet given him a child. 

You see, they’d agreed that once he’d earned and saved enough money for her to buy a ticket from them damned coyotes and they had a place in the States, that was when they would start their own little family.

He rued the day that he decided to come to Fuckno.

But it was all he had now.  It was too late to move somewhere else and start over again.

He had ended the night before by setting himself on fire and running down a dark tunnel.

He had died.

Yet again.

How many chances did one get?

TCC 

CH 11

REVOLVE

He savored this stolen experience from the man whose body he now inhabited.  He did not know where he was, but he knew that he would have to proceed slowly.

Would they detect his accent when he spoke?  Of course they would.  Well, at least the lady would.  He could tell that the baby was too much to small to understand any words at all.

Even as he tried to submerge back into the comfort and bliss of the bedding, the feeling was slipping away as his mind worked.   

Such a sad thing; to have a taste of a good life and then to realize that it would become ugly and loud with fear and shouting, if he did not proceed correctly.

Then fire alarms woke everyone the fuck up.

Bright sunlight gleamed down through the tall windows as he opened his eyes and sat up.  He looked over at the other two in the huge bed.

Indeed, there lied a baby next to him and beyond her, a beautiful woman.  She had the visage of someone from the Mediterranean.  Dark hair, high cheekbones, deep golden skin.

The alarms rang and her eyes fluttered open and she looked for her man.  Her eyes were colored like the waters of a clear, deep-green ocean bay.

Christopher was taken aback.  He recognized her and then he knew whose body he now inhabited.

He had walked into the eldest son of the High Priest of them Purple Robes.

He was a Prince.  He was next in line to the throne.

Smooth Sailing by QOTSA  

Christopher whipped the covers away and hopped out of bed.  He looked for his street clothes and did not see them.  They were probably somewhere being cleaned and pressed.  All that he saw was a bathrobe draped over a chair.

The lady, (he knew her as Lady Emeralda) hopped out of bed and attended to the baby.  A fire alarm could mean anything, and she had been trained on what to do in case of attack.

She held her baby close and jogged to the walk-in closet to dress them both in clothes that would not attract too much attention. 

Christopher saw another door nearby hers and he had a clue.  He ran to it and when he opened it, he saw all manner of accoutrement and accessory for a wealthy man.

He tossed down the robe and quickly dressed in the clothing of an executive, stuffing a necktie into the pocket of his suit coat and leaving his shoes untied.

He ran into the other walk-in closet and Emeralda widened her eyes in surprise.  Why had her man dressed so conspicuously?  Certainly he would be a target.  He would make them all a target.

She opened her mouth to ask him but the phone rang and she shut her mouth.

Christopher went to it where it sat on the lamp table by the bed and grabbed the reciever up to his ear.   

The voice on the other end of the line said, “Sir!  We have an intruder in the servants’ quarters.  People are injured.  The quarters were on fire but it is being extinguished.  Keep calm.  Please keep your wife safe in your quarters at this time.”

The line went dead.

Emeralda said, “What is happening down there?”

Christopher looked up at her.   

Now was the moment of truth.  He would speak to her and it would not sound correct.

He opened his mouth and said, “We have to stay here until the fire alarms turn off!”

Emeralda went to sit at the small tea table by one of the large windows.  She held the crying baby close and then she pulled out her breast.

The fire alarms pierced the clear morning light and they would not stop ringing. As his mind collected all of the information he had just recieved, one thing became clear, which was this:

The loud clanging of them alarms had been his saving grace.

For now.

Warsaw or TheFirst Breath You Take After You Give Up   by Them Crooked Vultures 

From the screaming, fiery hellhole that erupted, Sven ran down the hallway, leaving a trail of fiery footsteps in his wake.

The sprinklers overhead spurted awake and gushed water down in the hallway and soaked him.

Behind him, where he had bashed in the head of a man with a baseball bat and thrust a knife into the throat of  a young woman who had accompanied him, he heard aerosol cans burst from the intense heat in the supply closet. A fireball erupted from them.

This new opportunity for him was dissipating before his eyes and it was his own fault.  He had not been able to control himself. 

He fled the fireball from the aerosol gases and just when it reached him he dove down on the floor and it passed over his head.  His soaked hair did not catch fire.

 

He looked back and saw the flashing emergency lights and the black smoke that billowed of the quarters.  The water droplets flashed in mid air with each blink of them lights.  They were diamonds hung on a black, smoky curtain.

And then the show began.

Them gunners from the top of the building were running down, and the men on the ground floor scrambled to action.

Sven saw the flashlights beyond the billowing smoke and they shined down on the floor before them and whipped about like glow sticks at a rave.

He crawled forth on his hands and knees seeking exodus.

In the flashing lights he saw a turn in the corridor ahead and it led to the right, towards the rear of the mansion.  He would make use of it.  He would hide.

From the servants' quarters behind, more of the aerosol cans erupted from the inferno in the supply closet, and that was when the men started shooting their pistols.

All manner of fuck occurred.

Folks came running out of the great room and its servant's rooms, and they were shot.  Not all of them died.

Sven turned the corner and got to his knees, crouching along as he made his way towards a light that shined through the black smoke.  It was an exit at the end.  It was daylight.

As he got closer, he began to cough.  The hallway was filling up.  Oxygen was expended.

He would suffocate from smoke inhalation of all the dangerous chemicals from the burning supply closet.

He choked and his eyes burned.

He got up and ran towards the exit and then one of the doors to the hallway swung open and smashed him in his face.

He fell down, backwards, and his head hit the floor so hard that he could taste it.

The lights went out.

Armed men rushed out and the first one tripped over Sven.

The one after him shined his flashlight down into Sven’s face and shouted, “Halt!  We have the young Prince here!  Secure the area and I will escort him to the outside air!”

Huh.

It wasn’t the end for Sven.

Well, just yet.

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out

Good Morning   by Dandy Warhols 

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