The sacrificial table
Alphonse’s innovations were amazing. After a couple of days, Barry learned to appreciate it. For instance, the bed on which he was restricted, day and night, could create that little extension on the left side, another kind of sun chair on which he was able to slide and, once there, a flat surface that would fold gently, a humming sound filling his ears, into three parts: torso, butt, legs. It would nicely turn into a wheelchair on which he sat and drove around thanks to a controller, and which even had warming ass cushions, as Alphonse had added that small but significant detail.
A week after the Team brought Barry back to the station, Eugenie White called every day to assess Alphonse’s readiness as a nurse and, reassured each time by whomever was answering the telephone, she must have deemed the old man a skilled enough caretaker, and then she had totally bailed. George –Robortor— was a bit shocked, especially after the involvement that Eugenie White had had in the retrieval process, but Barry seemed to take it well, to understand her. “Where the hell is your friend Eugenie White?” he asked Barry one morning.
“She has a job, some things” Barry replied
His moods seemed to depend on the day and the part of the day, merry and bright at sunrise, more sullen at sundown. If no one was looking, it was easy to catch Barry staring absent-mindedly and at nothing in particular, opening and shutting the fingers of his right hand, as if he tried to accelerate the healing process of his forearm. He was a bit mummified on those instances, “you should move, Masquevert, or you’ll have to defrost” Alphonse said repeatedly. Overall, something known reappeared in their particular lives, his, a man half human half robot able to breech into all corners of all systems by the force of his mind, and the lives of the others, Marlene, Hobbes, Darlene, Ivan. Even Alphonse slid smoothly into the rhythm, tackling his endless to-do lists with some newly restored energy, alternating with his moments of care for Barry.
George had texted Eugenie in the morning, hey girl, the message said, just saying, DINNER.
You mean SUPPER she replied
He was not sure she would attend. Some train lines were still out of order in the center of the city and he knew that she had recently parted with her car to invest further into her motor home. Darlene could pick Eugenie up with the chopper, but she would never accept to step into that thing. The sky was the less dangerous road to travel at the moment. Pockets of mrai moumous could be found under a rock, in the sewers, in discarded refrigerator boxes, in the darkest rooms of some hangars, roaring aimlessly, reacting to a sudden flash of light or animated conversations of humans stepping into the wrong spot at the wrong time. They had lost their mother ship, destroyed by Uberwoman.
The way Uberwoman had plunged into the rotating spaceship from nowhere had resembled the way a peregrine falcon flattens its wings on the sides of its body before slashing through the air. The impact alone had obliterated the middle of the craft and then, scrambling, the aliens had tried to flee but, following the blow, they had had to face the rest of the Team. Victory was good, it felt good, George thought. He had a new suit, as well as Hobbes, able to distribute some mini cannon balls into enemy territory at the flip of a switch. It felt good to be praised again by the media after being ridiculed for disappearing on their Moon mission for an entire year.
Before, during and presently, after that, he had gone on three dates Mustafa. George texted him next. He felt like there was something special about that man. First of all, he knew about George’s secret identity, since he had been the one present during the accident that had turned him into Robortor and assisted Alphonse and Hobbes into saving his life as George. He was a visionary manipulator of code and technology, he saw invisible things beyond screens and interfaces and even beyond hard metals. In that way, one could say that they had known each other quite intimately for a long time, but George would have never dared asking Mustafa out.
And then, Mustafa had gifted him a face mask, some months before, to cover the robotic half of his cheek and chin, and explained to him that this way, maybe they could and grab a bite together in public. It was a strange object to introduce him to, a simple facemask made of light fabric, two elastics for the ears and nothing fancier, contrasting with the usual bleeping and buzzing paraphernalia that Mustafa manipulated on a daily basis. George had never thought about that before.
George was very familiar with the concept of dating from before his transformation and, back when he had followed that human tradition, he had deemed it quite dull and hypocritical. Getting in people’s pants, that’s what George was into, no matter their intellectual quotient or the agreeableness of their personalities but, with Mustafa, there was some magic in the air. All of a sudden, he loved to date! Possibly because he was wearing a disguise, dissimulating his true form in plain sight, no one batting an eye at their couple at the restaurant, at the movie theater, but also because Mustafa was an excellent dater. George wondered how someone could be such a nerd and able to solve such complex engineering problems in life while being so romantic and fun to be around.
With Mustafa, he discovered that he enjoyed those silly things, sitting down in a cosy place, paying attention to the decoration, letting the music in the background carry the atmosphere. He enjoyed being face to face with that very handsome man, sharing a plate, tasting what he had ordered, pretending to know something about the smell and components of his glass of wine, watching Mustafa chew. And those other highlights that he was hungry for, a little joke here and there, their hands brushing against each other, or the way Mustafa was always pointing his fork at him when he talked about something that made him excited.
He discovered that he liked walking back unhurriedly, to a car, instead of flying home with his integrated jet-pack, and not just walking, but promenading, taking the long way to the destination, decide to stop at a place and get ice cream, sit on a bench and watch people doing their thing, together, sometimes holding hands, sometimes not, just feeling the warmth of Mustafa’s company without having to touch him, their magnetic fields rubbing against each other and some desire emerged inside his belly, the tension building between them. Everything about dating Mustafa was making him want to date him more.
He opted for a proper call, instead of a text and, while he listened to the ringing, his phone beeped, it was Eugenie, who was answering his message with another mention of the word supper. He would look at it later. He was feeling a bit nervous, the one human palm he possessed was sweaty, so he switched the device to his robotic hand.
“Mustafa! Is it a bad time?”
Mustafa laughed at the end of the line: “never for you, sweetie pie”
“Hey, you forget that I am a manly man”
“Yes sorry. What’s going on George? George of the Jungle. George of the Manliness. Indiana George”
“I’ve been busy, apologies for disappearing”
“I watch the news, don’t worry” Mustafa said, “at least I can keep track of where you are and how much ass you’re kicking”
“Are you like turned on?”
“Of course” Mustafa replied, his words trailing off as he sounded distracted, and George was guessing he was currently multitasking, working on something, sticking the phone between his shoulder and his chin, typing on some keyboard, brushing on a screen.
“Well, it’s kind of out of the blue but I’m inviting you over for dinner with my Team and—”
Mustafa gasped “oh no”
“What?” George’s heart accelerated. Had he said something wrong?
“Like meeting your family, right?”
“You’ve already met Hobbes”
“Which doesn’t make me jump with joy about encountering the rest of the group”
He hadn’t seen it this way, and Hobbes would probably gag at the sound of the word family but they were all there tied up by that reality. To each other. The ones hiding their mutant identities struggled to make it in the real world, Darlene, Ivan, Barry. The others, the openly superable ones, lived isolated lives, overprotected, excessively buried in the forest or in the flank of a big rock. Family was in Hobbes’ Lab. “Hobbes is the only unpleasant one I promise” George thought about backing out of dinner too, as if was starting to feel even more nervous now that Mustafa was nervous, “or we could skip it and go see that new sushi place”
“I really don’t like raw fish”
“Or wherever really”
“I actually have somewhere I want to take you”, Mustafa said, “but I can’t tell you yet”
George and was happy to be on the phone, and not face to face with Mustafa at the moment, grinning like a child who discovers a coin under their Tooth Fairy pillow, “is it dangerous?” he asked.
“Maybe”
“Is it skydiving?”
“It is skydiving”
Silence. George appreciated those quiet moments, where Mustafa and he were thinking, hearing what had just been said, imagining, knowing that the other was on the other side of the call. Just breathing together. Sometimes, he thought he might be in love.
“So… what do you think of this evening?” he asked again.
“Uuugh, holy cow, I’m in! What should I wear?”
“Your smile”
“Very funny, George! Help me out, I want to give a good impression! Where are you now?”
“At the station. I’m in the mechanic workshop, in the basement. We are all here, like, we will have a meeting soon or whatever”
“Can you just give me some advice? So that I’m not a complete mess.”
George pondered the question, not sure where to start, “hum. You won’t be the only person without superpowers. We have Alphonse here, who is Hobbes’ right hand-man, and also a lady who is a high school Geography teacher”
“What now?”
“Wait I think she works at a post office now” George tried to recall “let’s switch to Facetime” He put the device down against a box of tools and activated the camera. Mustafa appeared, his beautiful face, his baseball cap worn backwards, his beard thick. He was indeed doing something else at the same time, as he didn’t look directly into the camera but waved distantly, and continued messing with another task which was producing some fluorescent lights. “What are you working on?” George asked.
“I’ll show you, habibi. You’ll love it, it’s just an interface, but I’m tweaking it just a bit”
“Awesome. You want me to give you a virtual tour before you come over? So you are familiar with the place?”
“George, I don’t give a fuck about Hobbes’ mansion, just give me some basic information so I can prepare myself mentally. What did you say about having a high school Geography teacher at your little dinner?”
“Ah, that?” George scoffed, “accidentally, we got her involved because she helped one of my coworkers, I mean friends, I mean” he refrained in front of the word sibling, no. No, Barry was not George’s brother, he shook his head at his own thoughts. “At some point she was helping my friend, like you helped Hobbes help me back in the day” Was Barry his little brother? He had to think about it.
“Interesting”
“And now she hangs out with us.”
“Really? And how is that going for her?”
George paused, rewinding the steps that had led Eugenie White into their lives, the way she had had no choice but to remain attached to the Team up until recently. It had not been going that well for her, with her being desperate to separate from this action-packed existence where she didn’t belong, and Hobbes being such a dick to her, hating to love her, loving to hate her. Therefor, George chose the short version: “well, pretty good! She’s alright, she fits in” That wasn’t a lie; everyone liked Eugenie and Eugenie didn’t execrate anyone, but she really wanted out. She might even decline his text-invitation, who knew.
“That’s peculiar. Is she a journalist?”
“Mustafa, I’m telling you, she is just a teacher, she is nice. All the people here are nice, except for Hobbes, but you already know that and you shouldn’t care. The food will be out of this world, and there will be some serious booze.”
Mustafa put a hand on his mouth to laugh, as if he was a shy Chinese girl, “so dress code is casual?” The light of the current project he was working on, outside the frame of the camera, illuminated his perfect teeth. In the middle of his thick beard. They didn’t flash lie crystals and they were not plasticky-looking like those of movie stars on red carpets, no, they were just very aligned and producing a warm and enticing smile.
“More than casual. Just wear whatever, you will look good no matter what”
He saw Mustafa’s eye granted him a glance “because you think I’m hot”
“Yes I do!”
“Can you just remind me who is who? So I don’t come in and act like a guy who goes on a job interview” Mustafa pushed away his workstation, circled several times on his chair to move sideways along his desk and grabbed a pen and a paper. The journal he used had a cover that read Generational Trauma.
“Seriously? Who cares? I’ll introduce you when you arrive. Just bring a nice bottle of bubbles if you want”
He now had all of Mustafa’s attention, and his eyes piercing through the camera, looking directly at him and nodding in insistance “no, I know that, but I want a little reminder, if you don’t mind. To you, they’re just your friends but to normal people like me, it’s like stepping into the Festival de Cannes”
“The Festiwhat?” He didn’t let Mustafa answer, “we are normal too by the way” but he dove into it, “You have Marlene, now, be prepared” he said, “she is drop-dead gorgeous”
“I know, I have seen her on TV. That’s why she cannot have a double life, or she would be restricted to jobs such as supermodel or super uber-model, and be in the limelight constantly”
“Well you’d be surprised, you know. She used to deliver the newspaper on her bicycle, back in the early twenties, she also worked in a coffee factory”
“Jesus Christ. I forgot that she cannot die”
“It’s only useful to remember that information if you are planning to murder her”
“But anyway” Mustafa remarked, “that was before social media”
“Right. Marlene is so nice, though, you would think, being so perfect and so acclaimed would have gotten to her head, but no. Also, you can speak Urdu with her. Or practice your Afrikaans”
“Seriously?” Mustafa’s pen wasn’t taking any notes on strangely titled notebook anymore. He was hanging on to George’s words, and George felt a tiny pinch of pride into his heart.
“She does speak a fuck load of languages” And then there were Darlene and Ivan. Mustafa seemed to breathe a little better after reviewing all members of the Team. They were indeed normal enough. “There won’t be any superpowers used the whole time, you don’t have to worry about that”
“And then Alphonse?” Mustafa asked.
“Alphonse looks like he has a broom stuck up his ass but I’m sure he will like you. I’m going on a limp here but I am pretty sure he is homosexual like you and me”
“Honey, I am not gay, I’m pan-sexual and you know that”
“I mean queer”
“And—” Mustafa’s eyes went to scan his notes, realized he had barely taken any “you haven’t told me about the Bolt. Is he nice too?”
Ah yes, George thought, feeling a bit guilty. He had omitted Barry from his list, or, perhaps, had kept the best for the very end, “Barry’s nice, he’s super nice, actually, he’s my best mate here. But sometimes he can be a little weird.”
Mustafa squinted his eyes, rested his head in his hand, waiting for details, “what like, is in into you?”
“No-ho” George giggle, almost disgusted, “he’s just.. a younger guy, very impulsive, very burned headed. Remember that Caterpillar mission I told you about? Well, he got hurt there, like really hurt. He spent some time in a real hospital before we collected him back”
“Oh my god, like what?”
George hesitated. He was never keen on bringing up the scary angles of his job, such as, what could one day happen to him with the career path he was on, getting shot at by bazookas, aimed at with explosives, drowned by a well positioned net over a large body of water, “hm, he is fine now, but he got shot multiple times. He can move around in a wheelchair, I guess, but he still has to come a long way. Sometimes he can be pouting about it, that’s all. Otherwise, he’s very acceptable company”
“That sounds intense”
“Look… I understand if it is too much for you, Mustafa. I tend to forget about the change of universe one has to go through to step into my world, but I think you’ll like it”
Mustafa nodded, his pen suspended above his paper, “so, what do I write about Barry?” he asked. And George wasn’t sure what to answer.
“I hope the traffic wasn’t too dense” George winked at Mustafa as he stepped into the entrance hall with the high ceiling. He was already being cheeky, because he had just had a shot of Tequila. He almost never drank alcohol but he had been jittery all day and his nerves were bottling, swarming, releasing, doing all kinds of things in his body. Darlene had shut him up with a finger of from the bottle she was using to make some Margaritas.
What a dazzling gentleman Mustafa was. Contrary to a lot of men Georged had fancied or dated before, he wore clothes that were one size above his and made of heavy materials such as satin or cashmere, with the results that his outfits dropped on him, conveying an impression of tranquil, clean, unbothered strength, which was matching a lot of Mustafa’s core “That’s the first time I go to a dinner party getting picked up by a helicopter”
“Come on in, everyone’s waiting for you”
George entered first, doing his best to adopt a fresh eye gauging his surroundings and to imagine he was Mustafa, a non-mutant human, an extraordinary person but, compared to the local crowd, quite ordinary on paper. What Hobbes usually referred to as the reception hall was just a big oversize bling-blingued dining room, with a table so stretched from one side to the other of the room that it was hard not to feel like, with only eight guests present, the place was very unpopulated.
How did a man like Hobbes, the most anti social person George had ever met, keep designing buildings that could welcome large groups, his Lab station including a dozen studios snugged inside the earth, his table meant to sit thirty people? He possessed some a serious plethora of social contacts in his book, for sure, his public job forcing him to work along networks of politicians, press, researchers, military personnel, finance goons, bullshit ted-talkers, scientists, and he could dial all of them up and pack his chambers and leave no vacant seats around his turkey roast but that had never been something he did. He worked with those individuals but had never wished to turn business into friendships.
This impulse to create spaces who could accommodate hordes of people must have dated from the time his deceased spouse, Daphne, had still been alive. Another question that plagued George and secretly bothered other members of the Team was how in the world a woman as sweet and distinguished, lovely as Daphne could have been interested in Hobbes. But everyone had secrets, and Hobbes’ most monstrous one could be that he was a kind and funny man. George almost choked at the thought, swallowed the wrong way from the glass of water he was using to sponge up the Tequila a little bit –pace yourself, my boy, he told himself.
He rapidly felt reassured about the overall vibe of the dinner into which he was inviting his current significant other: underpopulated, yes, sounds echoing like in a cathedral, but the atmosphere was nice and the little gathering –little compared to the volume of the hall— was already buzzing with animation enough, people bringing the food and drinks, inserting such and such trays between plates and cups and around some various center pieces, dispersing bread baskets while joking, chattering, trading some weather talks with each other. Marlene was wearing a simple dress, just beige and unsophisticated, but stole all the looks, “here she is, Uberwoman” George elbowed Mustafa in the ribs, and they were quickly introduced.
“Oh my god it’s a huge fan! I am an honor” Mustafa stuttered, “I mean it’s an honor! I am a huge fan of yours, I’m so sorry” He made a sound that George had never heard from him before. He squealed.
Marlene grabbed his arm, “oh my god are you okay? Did I step on your foot with my stilettos?”
“No madame” Mustafa looked intensely at her hand resting on his sleeve, his eyes dreamy, “I’m just, I’m just squealing”
“Mustafa is happy to meet you” George removed Marlene’s hand and used a paper plate to fan his date.
“Are you kidding?” Marlene chuckled, “we are so glad to meet the famous Mustafa!”
“Famous how” Mustafa asked
“Marlene, for fuck’s sake” George urged her, “and this is the rest of them”
One second later, Barry emerged from his den and joined them, rolling himself in on his last generation wheels assembled at the last minute by Alphonse. He had taken a shower, George saw, his hair drying wildly on his head, and even he seemed to feel the joyous wind blow through, smiling as he mingled into the group. Marlene went to him excitingly and shuffled his hair around like he was her puppy, shouted, “the man of the hour!” before a wave of greetings and compliments popped in the direction of Barry.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
“Man you look great!”
“Fancy wheels”
“A true survivor!”
“Nice of you to make an appearance, Masquevert”
“He said to the Grim Reaper, not today bitch”
“Shut up Ivan” Barry tee-heed, his cheeks as red as some fresh tomatoes
It didn’t take long for Barry’s eyes to land on Eugenie White, who was nodding and lifting her glass too on the other side of the table. She was wearing a classic skirt and a sweater where one could read the sequined words Garage Sale, for an obscure reason. She participated into the smiling and congratulating but something inside the smile looked fragile, unnerved, skittish. George wondered. Did she really hate being here? Prior to Mustafa’s arrival and Barry’s triumphant homecoming on wheels, she had asked news about him, followed by updates on everyone, assisted them in setting the table, flattening some wraps together and spreading some guacamole on toasts, but she didn’t seem to be bursting with ecstasy.
They eyeballed each other, which was a normal thing. Her face had on it what could be interpreted as fondness but George was guessing it was pride, just plain pride, as she had been the one who had saved the Bolt’s life once more, when she didn’t even possess a real medical degree. She looked at him like one looked at a prize, which seemed to be appropriate for the circumstances and the ambient energy. Only her fixed smile didn’t appear to climb higher than her nose and certainly didn’t reach her eyes, but then she registered that Barry was equally scrutinizing her and expecting a specific and well-crafted comment from her, so she acknowledged it, a good sport, “I can see some definite progress here” she said. That comment was a little lame, George thought.
“I told you I would rise, like uh… a phoenix from the ashes” Barry pressed her
“Yeah” Eugenie approved, “an upgrade on the bird, definitely”
George felt the hand of Mustafa on his wrist, his chin tilted upward so he could whisper in his ear “ah, this is the lady who saved the Bolt’s, I mean, Barry’s life?”
“Yes, that was awkward” George conceded, “Barry! Stop being the center of attention and come meet Mustafa!”
“Mufasa, like Simba’s father?” Barry wheeled himself to George and to George’s crush. How precious, he took the time to be one with his emotions and grateful about the moment, about the chance to mix those two sides of one’s existence without lies, without wearing a mask, without a pretext. Barry’s face was fresh, washed, he had some colors in his cheeks, he was wearing a tye-dye sweater.
A phoenix. George had been that bird too, some four years or so before, finding himself accidentally located at the center of a mrai moumou offense and the defense of the Team and, a simple cable guy back then, he had unfortunately gotten stuck under a roof on fire and he had believed himself reduced to a pile of ashes that day, until the Team found him, half-fused and far melted into the networks of blue, yellow and red strings still flaring from the main drive wall. ‘He has absorbed the network’ Uberwoman had said, ‘I’ve never seen anything like it’
That’s when he became a mutant, not by genetic predisposition, but by fortitude, and the next step had been for the Team to take him in, cradle him as a birthing superhero out of misfortune, trying to turn the tide, make sure to harvest his acquired power while not losing his life, replacing the disintegrated parts of his organism by machinery that would function just as limbs and organs except, they’d be even better. George had embraced this new existence from Day One. Maybe he had not emerged into the world as a superhero, but he was a pure one at heart. He loved that life.
Now, he had the same power as Mustafa when Mustafa was sitting cozily in front of screen and lines of codes, only he, now Robortor, could do it by just mobilizing a spot on his brain, by blinking, by batting an eyelash. He could face a wall and picture the pipes beyond its bricks, its inner maze, invert the nodes of current into the hidden roads of city maps, open systems ranging from underground to orbiting the Earth, close his eyes and visualize matrices, observe numbers running endlessly and decide that this number had to go, and that one too, and think about it, and make it happen and, all of a sudden, the entire grid of a state or region would be paralyzed and hacked, torn into vulnerability, brought in plain sight.
”BARRY NOT MUFASA, Mustafa” George scolded Barry and pulled his ear, before Barry swatted his hand away, “we will horse around later, come meet Mustafa, I said. He’s my date”
The boy recoiled in his seat, “what the fuck? No one told me Robortor was dating!” and he presented his left hand to Mustafa for a shaking session. His other arm was crippled, best not to ask any questions about it, not to mention it, Mustafa had been advised.
George saw his partner hesitate, smiling with suspended air inside his cheeks, eyes merry and curious but doubtful. He did have massive, powerful hands, “don’t be afraid to roughen up Barry” he encouraged him, “he’s pretty much invincible” He had become closest with Barry almost right away, brought together as an unlikely pair thanks to their mutual enjoyment for basketball and their constant goofiness. That had been the straightforward base of their relationship but, over the years, they had shared many things that they wouldn’t disclose to the others about their upbringings, their challenging adolescences, the solitude they had known for different reasons.
Maybe they were brothers, maybe. But could you bond so deep with someone so reckless? Did that someone value your kinship or even, for that matter, you as a brother-from-another-mother, if they didn’t see the worth of the life they had? George felt guilty thinking about Barry this way. It wasn’t true that he didn’t value his life. A more accurate description of the situation was that he might just be immature and dumb. George glanced at Eugenie on the side, thinking that might be something similar that prevented her from enjoying her Team experience.
The dinner was good until it went badly, and it was all brought down by the Eugenie White-Barry Masquevert dynamic.
They were all in a very glowing mood, even Hobbes, who was relaxing for once. Marlene accepted the tiny bottom of a drink just to humor them, like a little girl playing tea time and, after a series of pressing requests, she shared some tales of the past with the group, things that were not included in history books. “Were mrai moumous already inhabiting earth at the time of ancient civilizations?”
“Yes like the Mayans” Darlene and Ivan wanted to know, “the Incas”
Marlene wet her lips, “you mean aliens?”
“Yes! Aliens!” Ivan roared, “exactly!”
“That was three thousand years ago” she neither denied nor confirmed. Hobbes scoffed next to her.
“And?” Alphonse jumped in, “there are patterns in the stones that we find all over the world in other extinguished societies, not even to mention that the heads of the Easter Island statues could have toes in the menhirs of Stonehenge”
“What the hell are you taking about?”
“Let me get my Earth globe”
On her way to the bathroom or to fetch something for the table, Eugenie would take the scenic road, “excuse me”, “excuse me”, “excuse me” circling the longer end of the dinner table instead of going around Hobbes and Alphonse. George saw that this made her approach Barry in an angle where she could pass him, brush against him, and trigger his good hand to snatch hers. He had not suffered extensive damage to his right arm except for a projectile that had dug a hole the size of a dime between his wrist and his elbow, but the other shots, hitting him brutally in the chest, had paralyzed his moves on the upper right side of his body. He would be kept off the fighting scene for a while for that reason.
“When you said Eugenie helped Barry” Mustafa whispered in George’s ear, raised his eyebrows. George saw that he and Mustafa had been absorbed in the same espionage activities.
“Yes, what?”
“Now I get it”
“What do you mean?”
If Eugenie had undertaken the trip around the shorter end of the table, she would have had a smoother itinerary in and out of the dining room, passing Barry on his handicapped side, restricting his marge of action to interrupt her course. But then she would crouch next to him to indulge him in the exchange he obviously sought, seemingly without outpouring enthusiasm –which made George nervous— until he pulled a smothered giggle out of her and got her to answer something or tilt her head in mysterious admission of something.
“What’s up with those two?”
“What do you mean?” George repeated.
“They slept together, that’s as clear as a nose in the middle of a face!”
“What? Nooo” Oh My God that’s what Darlene thinks, George cleared his throat, wavering between aversion and denial.
“I’m telling you” Mustafa bit into a piece of bread. What now? Barry had reeled Eugenie in again on her way back from the kitchen which, once more, she could have avoided by crossing on Alphonse and Hobbe’s table edge. This time, she lowered herself with difficulty due to her impressive load of pizza rolls, struggling to find her balance. He caught her by the elbow but she politely attempted to shake off his grip on her, pushing his hand away. He bent down and said something to her which opened her eyes as wide as the round platter she had been carrying. It was plain to see she meant to regain her seat as soon as possible. “Trouble” Mustafa murmured
“Barry, you’re hungry?” George improvised, coming at Eugenie’s rescue.
“I’ve had four mini bagels but I’m still starving” Barry answered somberly, but then, he forced his luminous smile back.
“There are a lot of shrimp appetizers on our spot, come wheel yourself here”
George cocked his head towards Mustafa, communicating silently that the gossiping was over, and Mustafa stretched to help himself to more tapas, adding some salt, “whoever prepared the scampi, this is divine” he commented, and Darlene lifted her hand proudly.
“I meant scampi” George corrected himself
“She got them from the fucking market” Ivan commented, finding it hilarious.
Hobbes was sitting with his legs crossed and an air of contentment and mindfulness on his face that George had seldom seen, supervising the table like he was Saint Nicholas in a workshop of elves, his arms resting on the sides of his chair, bent to allow his hand to perk on top of his thighs. He wouldn’t smile too brightly, no, that would be too outrageous, but he wasn’t moping either, just gradually working on a thick glass of whiskey, and Alphonse was smoking a cigar next to him. He gestured at Barry, “Barry Masquevert, you look like you want something and that this something isn't seafood. More cheese?”
“Some Tequila?”
Hobbes was about to refuse with a berating look under his high and wrinkled forehead, but Ivan interjected, “Oh come on!” Young Ivan stood up and launched a hand to reach the bottle of champagne open in the middle of the table, “he’s probably the one who needs it the most here!”
“Ivan, no” Marlene was more vehement and stopped him and filled Barry’s glass with water.
Eugenie was seating on the opposite side from his and Mustafa’s and Barry’s at the table. George watched her discreetly. As it got later and later and night outside of the veranda engulfed their little party, he saw she occasionally produced a nose-laugh with Darlene next to her, nodded to a joke, asked a question about a story, but she began daydreaming a lot, something absent taking hold of her facial expression.
Something weird had happened between her and Barry. Or, George chastised himself for imagining too much drama, she must simply be tired. After all, it was a Friday, and she probably had had a long week at work, a high school, a post office, wherever she was holding a profession, he had not followed very well. George kept forgetting that humans got tired from such simple things as lack of sleep or too much physical activity.
Mustafa wasn’t tired, and proved a blatant contrast to Eugenie’s disposition. He and Barry got along splendidly, now that they were seated so close, and in the end, because they were conversing loudly and into George’s ears and it didn’t seem that it would ever end, George got up, grabbed his chair, and effortlessly lifted Mustafa’s so he didn’t have to continue being sandwiched in the middle of the two any longer.
“Such display of strength” Mustafa emitted a discreet whistle
“I’m blowing your mind, right?”
He saw some faint guilt on Barry’s traits, “George, have you seen Crocodile Dundee?” he asked in a resolution to include his friend in the conversation
“Is that what you guys are talking about?” George pretended he was baffled and ideologically disappointed
“It’s both mine and Barry’s favorite childhood movie” Mustafa explained. His cheeks were flushed after too many servings of raclette. He was delightful-looking, the vision of him pumping some hot blood inside George’s veins
“Is that the story of the dude who hypnotizes crocodiles—”
“Alligators” Barry rectified
“But he’s like, scared of escalators or something like that?”
“You know who he reminds me of?” Barry asked, “Steve Irwin”
“Seriously” Mustafa approved, “he is one of my personal heroes”
“Mine too!”
George rolled his eyes with exasperation, trying to attract Eugenie’s attention, now that she was directly in front of him. Her fork was zigzagging through the food in her plate, bringing very small portions to her mouth, that she chewed on for a long time before swallowing. She didn’t look down, no, her eyes were cast at the little crowd above the dinner table but she wasn’t blinking or focusing on something special. She was staring right through everyone, a slight polite smile plastered under her nose, to fit right in. She was looking exactly like Barry during the past weeks when he had believed no one could see him and he was tuned out and peering into the emptiness.
“You’re ok, Eugenie?” George asked her directly
“George” she said cheerfully, re-centering her gaze on him and adding some friendliness in it, “yes, it’s a very nice dinner party”
“You look like you’re in your head a lot”
“Yes, I’m having a little déjà-vu” she sighed, “it’s a bit weird being back here, with all of you at the same time”
“Yes I’m sure Eugenie” George scratched the top of her hand next to her plate with affection. He wasn’t sure at all, he remained clueless about the contents of her mind and her heart, and what she felt about the crazy turn her life had taken when she had been placed on the same path as the Team.
“I forgot how spacious the rooms are here”
“But it’s kind of like your second home, right, Eugenie?” Barry asked, unexpectedly exiting the Australian outback discussion he was having with Mustafa to jump in the middle of George and Eugenie’s “Right?” His voice seemed to bellow above all other voices as if willing to draw attention to it.
Eugenie grudgingly granted him her notice, her head lazily rolling in Barry’s direction on top of her neck, as if she had anticipated everything. Her mouth made a tired O. It wasn’t tough to picture her doing the same in front of a class of grumpy teenagers but, again, George had the feeling that there had been a recent story about her switching job to work at the pot office.
Eugenie tried to look surprised but something at the lower line of her eyes said that surprise was the last thing she felt, “uuh” she hung her sentence, sensing some surrounding clusters of chat dwindle in sound around her, and many pairs of eyes fall on her little spot in front of Barry.
Trouble, George’s thoughts echoed Mustafa’s earlier words, and he felt Mustafa’s knee nudge his under the table at the same time as a hush fell on the table, and Marlene must have captured the same clue because she stepped in, hitting her spoon against the glass of champagne she was never going to drink and standing up and saying “can we, uh… actually get a round of applause for our little Barry here, back from the dead?”
Everyone rushed to abandon their cutlery and glasses, this time, and clap for real. George leaned into Mustafa’s ear, “every time she says Little Barry, another Barry in a parallel dimension gets shot again”
“Stoop” Mustafa found it hilarious, snuggled George’s shoulder and smothered a chuckle
“Thank you, thank you” Barry waited patiently for the applause to die down, but Marlene wasn’t finished.
She volte-faced and swung her elegant flute in the air again, “and now, let’s give it for this brilliant Team, kicking Mrai Moumou’s asses under the leadership of our legendary Hobbes!”
The clapping lessened, then rose once more, seemingly insufferable for Barry and the sudden pressing investigation he was conducting on Eugenie about how much of a home Hobbes’ Lab was to her. He did his best to partake in the clapping with his left fingers tapping on the tablecloth, then waited for decibels to decrease and opened his mouth again, looking vividly at Eugenie. Marlene stuck to prolonging the festivities as much as sh could, added on more item on the ovation agenda, “and our dear Alphonse, for coming up with all those dishes from scratch! You are the best host, Alphonse, and we are feasting like true heroes” Everyone roared and even stomped their feet under the table like a bunch of football fans in a stadium.
Refusing for things to be cocooned back into normalcy, Barry reiterated his question, “so Eugenie, you’re not inclined to live here?”
In the restored calmness, Eugenie planted her eyes straight into Barry’s, a tension and a coldness in the muscles around her mouth that testified that her amicable persona was now struggling to exist, “hell no” she said in one quick breath. Then she drew back that breath sharply as if to recollect the words she had let escape. She looked down at the fork that she was levitating above her food, “I mean no disrespect to anyone here who is always so welcoming, but this place is a long way from home”
Alphonse and Hobbes were pretending to not pay attention to the start of the illness at ease between Barry and Eugenie, comparing things from Hobbes’ phone to some other things on Alphonse’s phone, but a thickening air was enveloping the dinner time. Supper, not dinner, she had texted, George remembered. Eugenie used some strange words like that, he never knew if she was kidding or if they were really part of her every day vocabulary.
George lifted the board of amuse-bouches “another toast, Eugenie?” She presented her plate to him, let him serve her the treats, munching on something other than food. “Right” he said, “lots of yums and—”
“Is there something you want to say?” Barry had more questions. He shook the breadcrumbs from his napkin, starting the process of folding it, very slowly and cautiously. The process appeared arduous with only one available hand.
Eugenie didn’t strike George as someone who would pursue pretending to enjoy herself at the moment and her face had become stern. She started working on her own project, lining up the three mini quiches in her plate into a bumpy line, “no” she blew. It was compelling that she and Barry continuously mirrored each other’s actions through time and space.
“Which, by the way, means yes” Barry clarified for the rest of the table. George scanned all the guests, and thought it funny that everyone’s reaction was so them. Marlene watched the scene openly, her face relaxed, she was ready for anything. Darlene was sucking on a straw with an excited dance of eyebrows above her drink. Ivan was immensely confused but at the same time preoccupied about the peanut he was not managing to break free out of its shell. Hobbes had a tipsy look on his face, and Alphonse’s mind was in another place, anticipating his next course, determined to impress the dinner’s attendees until the end, whatever the end might be. George was afraid. Mustafa was holding his breath next to George.
“What means yes?” Eugenie went over straightening her already aligned quiches.
“When you say no” Barry replied, now moving on to folding his napkin in two, sharpening the edges
“Someone here wants homemade lemonade?” Alphonse wanted to know, and everyone said yes, please, homemade lemonade, all the homemade lemonade you can bring. When Hobbes’ wife had breathed her last breath, his dear Daphne, Alphonse, who had raised Hobbes from a kid to a man had become cuter, and more adorable, and cozier around Hobbes, as if willing to wear that final hat in his long career, to ease his master’s inconsolable grief. It was hard to obtain a word that was heartfelt from the man but, since the passing of Daphne, he had mellowed with Hobbes, almost as if he had evaluated his upbringing of his protégé sufficient and moved on to more tender things. Those demonstrations usually lasted a nanosecond but, to the trained eye, such as the one George had acquired, it was noticeable.
“You’re putting words in my mouth that I didn’t say” Eugenie almost slid a little quiche there, into her mouth, but changed her mind halfway, as she perceive something forceful could be coming from Barry. She replaced the snack at the center of her plate. She was probably right.
“What words?”
“You tell me”
Barry had something in mind, George saw, and he was pinching the edges of the napkin’s folds so they would be crisp, industrial “that’s a bit cowardly on your part, Eugenie”
“Cowardly?” she sneered
“Is that normal?” Mustafa asked so softly in George’s ear he wasn’t sure the sound was real, then prodded him in the ribs with persistence but George kept un-reactive, concerned about the argument that was unfolding.
However, it was too late, as Eugenie was losing patience and composure. Strain was leaving her face, the act she had been challenged to maintain, and she was becoming openly annoyed “Funny how you call coward, just being sensible. You know, Barry, fear is useful sometimes”
“And?”
“Wait, guys, this is surely a debate for another time, and we shouldn’t—"
Eugenie didn’t even seem aware that Ivan had spoken “This is a load of shit. I am a coward, yes, and Barry, here” she impaled a quiche with her mini fork, the one with the egg pâté stuffing, and agitated it in Barry’s direction, “is the fearless Bolt, which is not always more noble”
“Not always noble like how” Barry’s eyes darkened in menacing response to the little quiche shaking under his nose. One thing that triggered Barry Masquevert the most was to be addressed by aid of a pointy object closing in on him.
“Not noble like, you will die, from your lack of cowardice” she answered, and George heard Hobbes chuckle. In agreement? In opposition? In desolation? Who knew.
“What is that supposed to mean”
“You know what it is supposed to mean” Her eyes matched his disdain, she used her index and middle finger to recreate the shape of a gun, rose it under her mouth and blew some imaginary smoke from it. A ripple of unrest passed through the group.
Barry reacted at once, did exactly what George thought he would, darted up from his wheelchair, crumpling his beautiful napkin-folding enterprise in the process, then, found out he was not able to hold the upright position, obviously. Pushed downwards by gravity, some slight vertigo and the anguish in his body, he fell heavily on his left hand, palm flat on the table cloth, hunched down. Tried to say something but didn’t gather enough air. Sweat budded on his forehead, just under his hairline.
“Barry sit, dammit!” George said, “Mustafa, pull him down”
“I will not do that” Mustafa politely declined, horrified
“Barry sit” Marlene grabbed Barry’s shirt at the opening of his neck and lowered him back on his seat.
“This is great” Hobbes said, shaking his whiskey with the ice cubes at the bottom of it, and Alphonse came back with ten lemonade glasses, all of them ornamented with half a real lemon and glittery salt on the rims. Everyone had to wait until all the drinks were delivered and, George saw, Eugenie and Barry kept their face off going without a word, smoke coming out of their ears. How had things risen from nothing to everything and everything so heated and ferocious at once?
“Thank you Alphonse” Hobbes said with utmost seriousness without looking at his butler. He nodded courteously.
“Thank you Alphonse” Marlene said, squeezing Alphonse’s wrist
“Thank you Alphonse” they all said, Eugenie and Barry too, and too a sip of their drink in silence, all suspended to what was to come. Everyone commented about something beautiful about the presentation of the drink and the way they were so hued, the green lime shade more prominent at the bottom, the fresh yellow and white brightening the top, the little umbrella decoration so charming.
“Why are all of you pausing for the lemonade?” Mustafa asked George under his breath
“Because it’s Alphonse, Hobbes’ butler. Everyone here would rather cut their pinky finger off than hurt his feelings”
“So we resume!” Darlene judged it enough time devoted to Alphonse’s said feelings, “Barry, you were saying?”
“How about we play a nice game of Monopoly over dessert?” Ivan suggested
Barry wiped the sweat off his face with the back of his left hand “I’m not saying anything back to those baseless accusations” he tried retrieve the breath at his lips and the perfect shape of the napkin he had just rolled into a ball “I’m not the one who has a lot to say”
“You, Barry, have no awareness of danger, you—“ Eugenie dropped her mini quiche back to her little quiche line, “you are a firecracker” it started rather positive
“Thank you” Barry wheezed at her
“You are a ticking time-bomb, you are a child, a little boy with a dangerous toy, you, you, you haven't got the sense to be afraid and, as a result… you put yourself in that position”
“Which position”
“To get hurt”
A lot of oohs and aahs were stifled among the crowd, followed by Ivan, “quite indecent conduct for the evening” he spoke reproachfully although, glancing at him, George saw that he was as eagerly waiting for more action as the rest of them.
“How so?” Barry ignored Ivan
Eugenie pushed her chair backwards, distanced herself from the table, ‘I’m sorry my friend but…”
“Don’t call me friend” The ice in Barry’s voice seemed to reduce the temperature around the table by a few degrees, and George saw Ivan shiver, received a similar tremor from Mustafa next to him.
“I’m sorry Barry” Eugenie rephrased, “you lack fear. You will die from it. I don’t want to be there when you do”
“Perhaps we should all take a breather and—” Marlene tried, but Hobbes landed a strict hand on hers, pressed it delicately.
“It’s okay, Marlene, let them say their things”
“Let them say their things!” Darlene encouraged, clearly the most inebriated of the table.
George could recognize the opportunity for a mediator position when one presented itself “Barry, I… I I think Eugenie just means that she cares about you, like all of—”
“You’re a shitty teacher” Barry said to Eugenie. Ivan gasped
“Well, you’re a shitty superhero” she hissed back, annihilating her three quiches with a strong move of her fork.
“You are a shitty nurse”
Darlene snorted loudly, at the top of her amusement.
“You are a—” Eugenie stood up, unsure “a shitty Geography student”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about Geography”
“Well, you’re also a shitty student in other subjects, Barry!”
Barry’s anger was loose, his face all red, doing all he could to accept that he would remain seated without embarrassing himself trying to get up again. A murderous urge rolled at the bottom of his eyes. Lastly, he threw his neatly folded napkin at Eugenie, which she intercepted with ease. More muffled oohs and aahs.
“You’re a shitty cook” Barry continued.
“You’re a shitty roommate” And as she spoke, George saw that Eugenie’s fury switched down a notch at the very second she heard her own words. Her eyes opened abruptly and in striking concern, startled by the sentence she had produced. Had she said something she regretted? George wondered why, as if being accused of being a shitty roommate was, for some inexplicable reason, worse than being a shitty superhero.
“Really” Barry said so low that outside of the ambient and petrified silence, no one would have heard it. A devilish smile curled up his lips. The anticipation was unbearable, furtive looks kept slaloming around the dishes and plates. Eugenie was tugging at the sleeves of her glittery jumper, her eyes so big now, even a little wet, the thing in them which stunningly clashed with her previous un-molded aggressiveness: she was begging, imploring. Her head even shook imperceptibly, saying, pleading, petitioning, no. “Really. Well” Barry started, slowly, plainly tasting the syllables of his words in advance, savoring them. No, no, please, George saw from Eugenie’s eyes and mouth, she mouthed it, no, but Barry was launched, full power Barry, ready for the kill: “you’re a shitty lover” he said.
Everyone hiccuped, including George, and even Hobbes, whose thick glass of whiskey dropped heavily against the table in a dull thud. Eugenie’s face crumpled with a whistling sigh, had she been a bag punctured by a long needle, some tears appearing at the folds of her eyes, and she grabbed her quiche rubble, threw it at Barry. He didn’t even try to avoid them, some cheese exploding on his chest like some actual steel bullets had done two weeks before, the molten yellow slowly dripping. “You little” she said, hyperventilating, “you little shit, you monster”
“You’re a shitty fuck, Ms White” Barry drooled out the name with despise, took a big gulp of his glass of water, chugged it, re-positioned it on the table, and Eugenie almost knocked down her chair when she ran from the room. Barry exhaled bitterly “sorry, everyone, really sorry, I’ll make it up to you at another dinner” he said, punching the commands on the left side of his wheelchair, rotating it towards the door behind him, initiating a similar attempt at a quick escape as Eugenie’s. Unfortunately, the chair had many great gadgets, qualities, bonuses, little tricks, but speed wasn’t one of them.
Darlene nodded approvingly “well, they have said their things, I believe”