People's Choice

Ralph stopped so abruptly he nearly dropped his coffee. Not his jelly donut, however. A moment of stunned silence was followed by the expected explosion. “What the flaming fuck?”

Messy as a bear’s den at the best of times, Ralph’s desk had been transformed into a garish shrine adorned with balloons, crepe paper, and wrestling memorabilia. There was even a replica of a WWE championship belt draped over a metal folding chair. In lieu of rose petals, the desktop had been strewn with printout photos of the same man’s face—bearded, clean-shaven, smiling, scowling, all with one eyebrow raised. In the very center stood a framed cover from the latest People magazine, proclaiming Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson as “The Sexiest Man Alive.”

And right next to his desk, holding a big red heart-shaped balloon, stood that junkless snake Lamar with a huge shit-eating grin on his face. Maybe snakes did eat shit. Ralph wouldn’t put anything past a snake.

“It’s official,” Lamar cooed. “Your dream date is now the sexiest man on the planet. People says so. How could they be wrong?”

“Say cheese,” added staff photographer Jamie, and snapped a picture of Ralph’s face, which was rapidly going beat-red. Because of course the whole damned newsroom had turned around to watch. They lived for shit like this. Didn’t anybody come to work just to work any more?

Ralph stomped up to Lamar and jabbed a blunt finger at his grinning face. “Get this through your scaly head. I am not queer for the Rock! It just so happens he’s the greatest wrestler who ever lived. And a better actor than people wanna give him credit for. A real man can admire another real man for that without wanting to, uh … ” Here Ralph ran out of steam. “You know. Without wanting to do other stuff,” he finished triumphantly.

Lamar, who didn’t appear to have a fearful, or sensible, bone in his sinewy body—or bones of any sort, for that matter—slithered closer. “What kind of other stuff?” he whispered eagerly.

Ralph’s grizzly blood rose to the fore. “Listen, Mr. Mind in the Gutter, I ought'a string you up and tie you in a knot—”

“Oooo! Sounds like a fun evening. Come to the club with us? We’ll bring the pics of Dwayne along. For inspiration.”

“I'm gonna kick you in the—oh wait, you don’t have any.”

“Yeah he does.” Jamie grinned. “Probably more than Dwayne.”

Ralph rounded on Jamie. He was an easier target. “Is that what you think?” he said with deceptive mildness.

“Yeah, I—”

“IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT YOU THINK!”

The bullpen went dead silent. Ralph had gotten his black bear dad’s diminutive size, but his grizzly mom’s full-on roaring genes. Even Lamar swayed backward, out of striking range.

“Listen up, you jabronies,” Ralph barked. “That goes for alla you. It’s okay to like another guy without, y’know, liking the other guy. I mean not like the snake here. The Rock is the greatest wrestler ever. He comes down to the ring, the whole arena gets electrified. Can any of you do that? Of course not. The man’s a frikkin’ genius. If Pimple wants to put him on their cover, it’s because they’re trying to class up their rag. He should be on the cover of Sports Illustrated anyway—”

“In a swimsuit?” Lamar asked.

“That’s it, scale boy. You’re goin’ down.”

“Too late. Did that this morning.”

“What the hell is going on in here?”

Scat. All the roars had brought editor Nick out of his office. If anybody could out-bellow a grizzly, it was an alpha wolf. “Now look whatcha done,” Ralph complained.

Nick growled low in his throat while he took it all in—the photos, the balloons, Lamar. He picked the snake to vent at. “What did I tell you about unauthorized parties during working hours?”

“Uh … not to have any?”

“Damn right. You’re not even on staff any more. You’re freelance. Clean up this shit and get the hell out of my bullpen so we can get back to work. And you—” He whirled on Jamie. “Delete all photos. No exceptions.”

“He didn’t even bring any cake,” somebody grumbled. Nick swept the room with an ugly glare, but the grumbler had successfully ducked behind a desk.

“And for the record,” Nick finished, “Andre the Giant is the greatest wrestler who ever lived, so I don’t want to hear any more of this ‘Rock’ crap.” He reached for the framed magazine cover.

Ralph snatched it away just in time. “This stays,” he said. And even Nick knew better than to argue.

Bandwagon

Ralph Rates ‘Em
Movie reviews by Ralph Bruin

So here we are at the end of the year and this column’s going out with a bang. Yeah, you guessed it. I’m gonna review Star Wars: The Force Awakens. Me and every other reviewer still upright and sober. But I gotta tell you up front, there won’t be any spoilers. Ziva told me not to ruin the movie for anybody. Hey, c’mon, I know better than that. Just because people started calling me Wreck It Ralph doesn’t mean I like spoiling movies for people. I do that and I’m out of a job, and that’s no way to start the new year.

Besides, it’s been out for two weeks already, so if you don’t know the plot by now, which rock have you been under? But okay, I’ll keep it spoiler-free so Ziva don’t get all pissy. She just had kids. You know how they get.

So anyway. The Force awakens. While it was sleeping somebody must’a hit the reset button because it looks an awful lot like the first one. We got bad guys in ginormous spaceships and stormtroopers out the ass and a droid carrying vital info running around on a desert planet. Sound familiar? I thought Luke and his buddies defeated the evil Empire back in Episode VI. But here we are with the Empire and they still got an army and they’re still blowing up planets and the rebels are in hiding and there’s a dark lord of the whatsis and only one Jedi left and he’s disappeared. So we’re right back at the starting gate and everything the good guys spent three movies fighting for all went down the crapper in one generation. This is what happens when you let amateurs try to set up a government.

The only good thing is that this time around, the lead’s a chick. I can tell you how that happened. Hunger Games is how that happened. Kickass chicks in charge means money in the bank now. She doesn’t have much of a rack but she can hold her own in a fight. You can’t ask for more from a chick in a movie. Well, yeah, okay, you can ask for the rack and usually you get it, but this is Star Wars and kids are gonna wanna see this, so we’ll give the rack a pass this time around.

Anyway, Katniss meets up with both the droid with the secret info and a former stormtrooper who left the Empire. And that’s another thing. When did the stormtroopers learn how to shoot? In the first movie they couldn’t hit the broad side of a bantha. Now alla sudden they got dead aim? Maybe they figured out they should get in some target practice after the Ewoks kicked their asses back in Episode VI. Beat by a bunch of teddy bears. You call that an Empire?

Whatever. Katniss and her new boyfriend take off in—wait for it—the Millennium Falcon! Yeah! We’re hitting all the nostalgia buttons here. I’m telling you, when Harrison Ford came onscreen the whole damn theater went apeshit. Not so much for Carrie Fisher. I think she’s had work done because her face hardly moved the whole time. They don’t have cell phones but they’ve got plastic surgery? What the hell kind of galaxy is this?

Oh, and the bad guy? The bargain-basement Darth Vader? He’s Han and Leia’s kid. Luke was teaching him to be a Jedi and he turned to the dark side instead. Stellar parenting there, you guys. Maybe it’s a generational thing. Vader was Luke’s dad and Luke was bland as vanilla pudding. This new guy has a kid, he’ll probably be Buddha or somebody.

(“Ralph! What did I tell you about spoilers?”)

(“What? The thing about Darth Solo? Everybody knows that by now. It’s not like I told ‘em who gets killed or anything. You want me to?”)

(“Just wrap it up. We’re on deadline. Wait a minute. Did I just see the word ‘rack’ in there?”)

(“No. No, you didn’t. Just gimme a minute, okay? Did the office party start yet? Save me some punch.”)

Okay, bottom line. Should you see this movie? Yeah. It’s Star Wars. It’s got chases and robots and fight scenes and shit blows up. All the stuff kids love. People are gonna ask, “How come Katniss can fly the Falcon and where’d she learn how to use a lightsaber?” Because it’s Star Wars, that’s why. If you’re gonna be like that, you should maybe be watching a movie with Meryl Streep in it. Wuss.

Two things here. Screw you, Ziva, I’m telling people. Mark Hamill’s in this. You have to wait because he’s right at the end, but Luke does show up. He doesn’t say anything, which works for me. I’m a big fan of the ‘90s Batman cartoon, and if I’d heard the Joker’s voice coming out of Luke Skywalker’s mouth I think I would’a lost it.

The other thing is, why wasn’t the Rock in this? I mean, really. Picture the Rock with a lightsaber. You dumping in your shorts right now too? He’d make one badass Jedi. Mace Windu’s kid or something. Maybe in the next movie. Disney owns the franchise, right? Does the Rock work for Disney? I thought everybody works for Disney. I lose track of these things.

(“Ralph! Are you done yet?”)

Gotta wrap this up. Go see The Force Awakens. I give it four out of five bear claws. My favorite part was the preview for Captain America: Civil War. Cap and Bucky beat the shit out of Iron Man. Yeah, right. That’ll last until Tony gets his hands up and blasts ‘em with his repulsor rays. Star-spangled splatter all over the walls. See you in the new year, folks!

The Master Baiter

(We have an Adult Content label now. I’m going to have fun with it.)

A hiss is a hiss is a hiss, you’d think. Jamie Robineau, who loved and lived with a snake shifter, knew better. His man Lamar had enough different hisses to fill up a pickle barrel. There was that angry hiss of his that could steam off wallpaper, the staccato frustrated hisses he shot out when he was at work and the words weren’t coming, the high-pitched one that passed for a laugh, the quick whistly one when he was scared or upset, and that long, low one that signaled satisfaction after they made love. Right now he was using the laugh hiss, but with a nasty edge in it. Jamie decided somebody somewhere was in for a mess of trouble.

He strolled into the kitchen. “Mornin’, honey. Up to something?”

“Justice.” Lamar had his legs coiled beneath him on his favorite chair in the breakfast nook, with his laptop on the table before him. His hiss shifted to a take on the angry one before it rose up the scale to laughter again. “Join me. We need to plot.”

Jamie poured and prepped coffee for both of them before he settled into the nook. He sipped his coffee and watched Lamar’s expression. Oh Lordy, that was his scheming face. Somebody was in for it for sure. “Who we plotting against? Please don’t say Nick. I need that job.”

“Nick’s married with children. He’s suffering enough. It’s our amigo Ralph.” Lamar turned the laptop’s screen to face Jamie. “He’s gone too far this time. He must be stopped.”

Jamie squinted at the screen. It took a moment for his morning-bleary eyes to focus on what he was reading. “Tell me the boy didn’t write a book. No. Just no.”

“He’s done something. I wouldn’t call it writing or a book.” Lamar’s angry hiss briefly leaked out again. “I can feel my brain cells dying just from looking at this.”

“Least it ain’t a romance. Looks like he’s going for hard-boiled dick. Ain’t nothing wrong with that.”

“I’m with you there whole-heartedly, querido. This, however—Ay! This is a travesty. He’s not only insulting the entire mystery genre, he’s damaging writing in general. Nobody does that in my town.”

Uh-oh, Jamie thought. Snakes lived for subterfuge. Being a constrictor, Lamar was never happier than when he could put the squeeze on someone. That usually ended up with both their tails in a sling. “You’ve got a few notions already, don’t you?”

“I’ve been considering the problem," Lamar confessed. "He’s already up to Chapter 2. We can’t let this go any further. I believe a distraction’s in order.” Lamar’s grin radiated pure evil. “I know just who to call.”

# # #

It was another crappy day on my crappy case. All my leads had shut the door in my face and were pretending they weren’t home. Looked like it was time for Plan B: find some lowlife and punch him in the gut. There wasn’t any shortage of those in this cellpool. All I needed was one who might know something.

I headed down to the docks and the Rusty Bucket, a dive bar where the lowlife quotient was a healthy five to one. If nobody knew shit about Alabaster’s brother, least I could still get a drink.

With my gun in my pocket I—

“Mr. Bruin?”

Ralph wrenched his eyes away from his deathless prose and up to meet the visitor standing before his desk. Hell-o. Nice tits occurred to him first. Then he took in the rest of her. Big brown eyes, wavy auburn hair, simple skirt-and-blouse outfit with a pretty pink sweater, curves in all the right places. She smiled and showed off big white teeth, heavy on the canines. Predator. Good morning, Monday.

“Mr. Ralph Bruin?” she said again. “Hello. I’m Cinnamon Baer.”

“Yeah, sure you are. Pull the other one, it’s got jingle bells.”

“Maybe you’d like to take it up with my sisters, Honey and Pooh.”

“Whatever. Can I do you? I mean, what can I do for you?”

“I’m having a problem with my brother.”

“Lemme guess. Teddy.”

“Malcolm. Mother only got cute with us girls. Malcolm’s in college right now, studying journalism.”

“Poor kid. Tell him to switch to a profession that pays.”

“He wants to be a movie reviewer.”

That got Ralph’s attention. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she echoed snidely. “I still don’t know whether I should support him or try to discourage him. Since you’re the local expert on the subject, I was hoping you could help me out.” She slipped her sweater off her rounded arms. “You mind if I take this off? It’s warm in here.”

Oh geezum, there they were, Mount Humpty and Mount Dumpty in all their D-cup glory. Ralph lurched to his feet. That wasn’t the only part of him lurching. Lucky the desk was there.

He discovered Miz Cinnamon Baer was three inches taller than he was. So who wasn’t?

“Tell you what,” he said. “I could do with a break. Waddaya say we go have a coffee and I’ll tell you all about the reviewer biz? Then you can pass it on to your brother. The good, the bad and the ugly.” He shut off his computer without bothering to hit Save. “That’s a movie, y’know.”

“That’s awfully generous of you,” Cinnamon simpered. She tossed her sweater gracefully over her shoulder and allowed Ralph to take her arm.

Across the newsroom, Lamar watched it all through half-lidded eyes, and puffed soft little hisses of wicked laughter.

Viewers' Choice

Okay, here’s the deal: I started to write a follow-up to last week’s post and couldn’t get it to work. Then I got another idea and couldn’t get that to work. I came up with a third idea, and … fizzle. So this is what we’re gonna do. I’m posting my three beginnings and leaving it up to you, the readers. Vote on which one you want me to finish. Otherwise I’ll pick one myself. Or come up with something entirely different. Ideas are a dime a dozen. It’s the execution part that’s a pain in the butt.

#1: FAST AND LOOSE

Mirabella stared down at the creature lying on his back in the grass. He had the look of a cat to him, but was thin and limber as a rubber band, with bony, stilt-like legs. His pelt was nearly as yellow as the grass, and speckled with dark spots. His eyes darted from her to the muttering gray stallion to the Clydesdale gelding and his heavy, deadly hooves. The cat held very still, with his paws tucked in to his pallid chest fur in an effort not to look dangerous. He must have experience with horses, especially protective stallions.

She had seen cheetah-shifters before, though she’d never spoken to one. Nor had she expected to find one in Montana. To her knowledge, Wells did not employ cheetahs. That implied her own secrets were safe. So what was he doing here?

If only she dared shift to ask him. But no one must know she was up here, or that she was something other than a horse.

She backstepped to allow Hicks, the gray stallion, in close to settle matters. Hicks did not like cats at all, and wasn’t that fond of shifters. Whatever he decided, she would back him. Better safe than sorry.

#2: FAREWELL TO THE LONG BIG SLEEP

Ziva only ever heard Nick moan on two occasions: during bouts of passion in their bed, and behind his desk on deadline day. Today he was moaning in his office with no deadlines looming, and her not with him to provoke the noises. She practically crashed into the office. “You okay, honey?”

“Let me claw my eyes out first.” Nick rubbed the abused orbs in question and sat back from his computer. “I don’t know how, but he just keeps getting worse.”

Ziva came around the desk to massage his shoulders, and to sneak a peek at whatever had upset her mate. “Let me guess: Ralph. What did he do this time, savage the new SpongeBob movie?”

“Worse.” Nick shuddered. “He’s writing a book.”

# # #

It was a quarter past my second bottle of scotch. Outside my office it was raining like a sonuvabitch. It’d been doing that all week. I think the sun figured if it dared to show itself somebody’d take a potshot at it. Not that it mattered worth a shit. All the rain in the world couldn’t wash this city clean. I lifted my bottle to the absent sun and took a swig in its honor.

Ziva raised both brows. “A detective novel?”

“That appears to be his intention,” Nick said. “Somewhere, Raymond Chandler is spinning in his grave.”

“How did you get hold of this?”

“Lamar hacked into his files. You know how territorial he gets when somebody else tries to write a book.”

“And of course he shares with everybody.”

“That’s a snake for you.” Nick continued reading.

And then she walked in. A dame classy enough to make me put the bottle down. Blonde—I mean, c’mon, what the hell else? Legs from here all the way down to there, a set of highly dangerous curves and a rack that’d make a saint scream hallelujah.

Ziva winced, close to moaning herself. “Yeah, that’s Ralph.”

She sat her hot ass down in a chair and crossed those endless legs. “Mr. Jakes? My name is Alabaster Crowe. I want you to locate a missing person. My husband has disappeared.”

#3 THE USUAL SUSPECTS

It had to happen eventually, Gil thought. When you’re in politics, scat like this hit the fan as a matter of course. That didn’t prevent him from seething.

He knew he could strike Louie and the gang at Rattigan’s off the suspect list. Maybe last year one of them might have done it as a joke, but not now. He had a wife and children now. Louie had backed off from the practical jokes the second Chloe announced her pregnancy, and saw to it everyone else did too. Louie had a cleaver. No, it hadn’t been anyone at Rattigan’s.

Somebody had it in for the Mayor of Talbot’s Peak. He’d have to nip this in the bud. But first he had to deal with the press. “No,” he told the reporter from the Gazette through grinding, gritted teeth. “I didn’t and have never made a sex tape.”

That’s all, folks. Pick the one you like and I’ll finish it. Or feel free to suggest something else. As for me, it’s back to caffeine. Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be writers.

What's in a Name?

Ralph walked back to his cabin still pondering the board back at the gazette.  The baby name pool still had not been finalized.  Were Nick and Ziva ever going to name their spawn?  And now there was another board he’d had to wager on for Mayor Gil’s new fleet.  He had high hopes that between all the multiple births here lately one of them would choose his pick—Dwayne, such a fine name.

“Ugh,” he grumbled.  It was 2015 and things still weren’t going his way.  The movie selection was meh, the town was all happy-happy, Joy-joy, lately; the most exciting thing to happen was the awesome mammoth battle of a few months back.  At least it gave him fuel for his op-ed column.  His most recent submission made him chuckle…What’s in a Name?

Since both Nick and Ziva were off on baby leave, they’d left Mistress P in charge of getting the gazette out so he stood a good chance of this article making it into the mix.  Hopefully, it would help the alpha’s finally settle on one of the names he’d picked.  He’d included names not just for their two, but also for the mayor’s lot.  Now he’d go home and submit the poem he’d penned to the online gazette; anonymously, of course.  Then he was due a few winks.

Dwayne, is the name

So sturdy and strong

It will bring with it fame

So you can never go wrong.

Another is Rock,

Or Rocki for a girl

Now don’t you bock

Don’t you remember the squirrel?

I also like Jon or John,

Nice and short, not too long

For a girl go with Joni

That’s a short “O” not a longy!

~~~

Happy New Year everyone!  I'm busy working on the newsletter so don't forget to sign up.  There's lots of free reads and catching up with our Talbot's Peak residents.  If there's anyone y'all are interested in reading more about, leave us a post and let us know...we authors always enjoy poking our characters for more.
Serena

It's a Playlist Party at the Gazette!

Nick loved the early mornings at the gazette for the quiet, non-judgmental space where he could indulge in the less macho songs on his playlist without anyone being the wiser.  Ziva was good with his wide and somewhat irregular musical preferences, but with her pregnancy, the rest of his family and hers had begun to “pop in” whenever they damn well pleased.  Their surprise visits made it impossible for him to move and groove like he wanted too.

That left him with his office, early enough so his staff would couldn’t read him the riot act if they caught him singing into one of the many rulers from his drawer like he was now.

“Hoooot August nights…” Nick jumped to his desk, crooning the whole time. “Pack up the baby’s, grab the old lady’s…” Squatting, he reached out a hand to his invisible audience, attempting to improve on the last time he’d sung the song some three minutes ago. “Everyone knows Bother Love’s show.”

“HALLELUJAH!”

“Brother’s” He sang out, only vaguely aware the previous hallelujah wasn’t coming from the iPod or his head.

“HALLELUJAH!”

This time the ruckus sunk into his brain and he could feel his phone vibrating madly in his pocket.  A sick feeling built in his chest making him certain he didn’t want to look at the offensive bit of tech or open his office door, but he manned up and pulled the phone anyway.  The text warned him this day was about to go downhill fast.

ZIVA: HEY, NICKY DIAMOND, DID YOU FORGET TO SET YOUR ALARM?

He had.

ZIVA: NO WORRIES, I LOVE YOU!

Thank Lupa.

ZIVA: OPEN THE DOOR, MATE.

He really didn’t want too.

Nick jumped down from the desk, not at all ready to face the embarrassment beyond his door, but knowing that ripping off the band aid quick was preferable to a slow burn and continual jabs.  With his hand on the knob and a deep breath he flung the door wide and was mortified to find every employee he had smiling at him.  When Penny stepped forward he knew it was going to get rough.

“So…Brother Love, we have a little something for you.” She handed him a sparkly new 12 inch microphone.  When the sea of employees parted, there sat a high tech karaoke machine and Neil Diamond’s greatest hits on top. “This is from all of us, Chief. Use it with good health.  And if you keep it in the bull pen, then the rest of us can, perhaps, join you in a chorus or two?”

“Yeah,” Ralph, who was finally waking up and less grumpy, called out.  “We’re getting real good with the Hallelujah’s out here.”

A round of the joyous shouts went out, followed by whoops and hollers.  He’d misjudged his crew and was determined to make amends.  The karaoke machine had a slot for a USB so he could get a new iPod and attach it.  Link it to iTunes and let the entire group pick out their own songs to download and sing.  They were family after all and he could easily afford it.

“Jamie, go lock the front doors,” he called out to the little red wolf. “Then come back and we’ll all give this awesome gift a go.  Work can wait for an hour of so.”

Eight hours later, everyone was leaving for the day, no work down, but they were all both wiped out and jazzed from a day of robust enjoyment.

Nick’s Top Ten Playlist
10. Rock’N Roll Train by AC/DC
 9. Suck My Kiss by Red Hot Chili Peppers
 8. Poker Face by Lady Gaga
 7. The Futures so Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades by Timbuk 3
 6. Draw the Line by Aerosmith
 5. Squealer by AC/DC
 4. Holly Holy by Neil Diamond
 3. Give It Away by Red Hot Chili Peppers
 2. Dirty Deed’s Done Dirt Cheap by AC/DC
 1. Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show by Neil Diamond

~~~

 So here's Nick's playlist...maybe Ziva's will show up next week.  :)  If you'd like to know about anyone else's in Talbot's Peak, leave us a comment and we'll get them to divulge the info...somehow.  

Have a great weekend!

Serena

Friday Fun!

“Ohmigod!” Penny jumped from her desk and made her way to the rail overlooking the newsroom.  “Ralph, what’s the last digit of your age?”

“What?”

“Last digit of your age?” She tapped a pencil against the paper as she waited.  “Please don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Ah, 6.”

“Okay, and Ralph is your real first name, yes?”

“According to my mama.”

“How about the last digit of your birth year?”

“Well, er, what’s this about, Pen, er…”

Penny shot Ralph a withering glare.  She hated being questioned, especially when she was having fun. “Just give me the number Ralph and the month you were born while you’re at it.”

“Zero and Jan.”

“Ha!  This thing really works.”  Sometimes wasting time on the internet does pay off. “Ralph, your steampunk name and the name you will be known as from now on is Chief Inspector Montague Rumble Bottom.

“WHAT? No way!  Where did you get that hokey thing anyway?”

The newly minted Montague’s indignation was perfect.  She always did like riling the bear up during the spring.  He was grumpier than usual having not slept right all winter.  “I found it online, but it sure hit close to the truth.  We’ve all heard your Rumble Bottom, Montague.”

“Grrr…”

“Oh hell!” Penny turned to take cover in her office when Nick flew through the door, grumbling something that sounded a lot like ‘what did you do’ at her before shifting.  How he always knew from inside his office was a mystery to her.  He went over the rail and landed before the pissed off - post shift bear.

“What’s going on, Penny?”

The newly pregnant Ziva watched wolf and bear square off against one another with a wet sheen in her eyes.  Penny smiled as Z wiped them away with a swipe of her hand and grumbled about ‘damn hormones’.  She was so like her mate in many ways.  The grumbling was just one of those.

“Why are Nick and Ralph in animal form and ready to battle?”

“Well, that could have been my fault.”

“Really.”

“More likely though it’s this banners fault.”

“A banner – really Penny.”

“Check it out, what’s your steampunk name?  Ralph is now Chief Inspector Montague Rumble Bottom, but I’m thinking he’d not crazy about the change.”   

“Ohmigod…” Ziva laughed, holding her still nonexistent baby bump. “That’s damn close.” 

“Right. I thought so too.  Your baby daddy would be Lord Roderick Wraith Wood.”

“HA..Ho, that thing is good!”  Ziva pondered it some more before she shook her head.  “Nope, no way.”

“Yep, you are no longer Ziva, but Baroness Constance Supper Waddle which works perfectly because, sweets, you’ve started to do just that.”

“That’s – that’s…” Sniff “Just mean, Penny.”

“It’s sweet, Baroness Waddle.”

“Stop it!”  The hormonal wolf growled, “What about your new name?”

Penny smiled as they both looked into the newsroom where a human Lord Wood now had an equally human Rumble Bottom pinned to his desk and was talking to him softly, soothing the reporter.

“Me?  Well, mines perfect.  I’m Madam Millicent Knight Topper.”
~~~

Oh my gosh, neither Mistress or Madam P, nor myself could pass this up for today's blog.  We're both suckers for this sort of thing.  :)  So tell me what's your Steampunk Name?

Me, I'm Dame Dorcas Wither Feather.  LOL

Serena

End of an Era

“Great Caesar’s goat!” Nick roared. Which, according to legend, Caesar had eaten grilled with a side order of fries. Nick vowed whatever was making that ear-splitting caterwaul would suffer the same fate.

He burst out of his office and into a scene straight out of a horror movie. Ralph Bruin, movie reviewer and writer of op-ed opinion pieces, was throttling the life out of a plaid canvas bag with pipes stuck in it. The bag shrieked a death knell that could probably be heard all the way to Missoula. Apparently his staff was celebrating the object’s demise, because they were gathered (not all that closely, he noted) around a desk with a sheet cake on it. Black balloons had been tethered to the chairs.

I’m not going to ask, he told himself, then said, “What the hell?”

“It’s a wake.” Oh dear Lupa. That thing with his face nearly hidden by his shirt’s black ruffles was Lamar. Behind him, Jamie looked at Nick apologetically. Ever since he and Lamar had hooked up, Jamie seemed to wear that expression constantly. “We’re celebrating the demise of 2013.” The snake wiped a tear from his eye. “I’m going to miss it.”

“Is that a bagpipes?”

“Yeah.” Ralph paused in his assault on all decent music everywhere. The bagpipes wheezed like an asthmatic. “There’s this Scotty bar out in the woods. I been taking lessons.”

Nick wondered how Lamar would taste grilled with a side of fries. He’d heard somewhere that snakes tasted like chicken. “Let me guess. ‘Amazing Grace.’”

“You kiddin’ me?” Ralph said. “I was doing U2. I wrapped up ‘Grace’ about ten minutes back. You people don’t know what good music is.”

Yes, we do, Nick thought, and that wasn’t it. “You’re supposed to clear any office parties with me first. Do you even still work here? I thought you quit to write porn.”

“M/M erotica,” Lamar corrected. “And this isn’t a party. I told you, it’s a wake. The old year’s coming to an end.”

“Good friggin’ riddance, you ask me.”

Lamar gaped at him. “Are you loco? Look at all that happened. The world didn’t end in 2012, for starters. It’s hard to beat that. Then we had the classic car cruise, and the fair, and that month where a bunch of people turned into My Pretty Ponies—”

“Which obviously it skipped you, though I can’t imagine how. That was not a fun time.”

“I’ll say,” Teddy called over from accounting. “I still whinny when I sneeze.”

“But everybody looked so pretty, with the manes and tails and all. Better than your usual grouchy—” Lamar watched Nick’s face get redder and redder and for once took the hint. “Okay, so we almost got wiped out by the psycho snake god—”

“Psycho snake god?” Jamie said.

“That’s right, you mammals wouldn’t remember him. No problemo. His wife got herself preggers and dragged him off to the serpent dimension, so todo es perfecto. And speaking of little wrigglers, I hear congratulations are in order.” He waggled his brows at Nick.

Nick went still all over. “What did you hear, and from who?”

“False alarm?” Lamar glanced at Jamie. “According to El Rojo here—”

“Hey, don’t go dragging me into this.”

Sharp horns and missed kills, Nick thought in a panic. Jamie. Because Jamie didn’t chase after the shes, Nick sometimes forgot he was still a wolf, with a wolf’s nose. He could read the changes in Ziva’s body like Ralph read the sports page. Thank Lupa she wasn’t in today. “Yeah. False alarm. Bad rumor. If anything winds up in the gossip column, I swear I will hire you just so I can fire you all over again. Got it? Oh scat. Tell me you’re not crying.”

“I can’t help it,” Lamar blubbered. “I hate it when the old year ends. It’s like shedding skin. You know why snakes shed their skin? Because they’ve gotten fat!” He burst into tears.

Nick gaped at Lamar, whose body was roughly the width of a No. 2 pencil, then at Jamie, who had his arms around his sobbing lover. “This morning,” Jamie said to Nick. “His moods’re jumping all over to hell and back.”

Sweet dog, Nick thought. This year couldn’t wrap up fast enough. “He’s not … um … ”

“Oh, hell no! That’s a rumor too. Male snakes can’t get knocked up.” Jamie looked suddenly panicked. “Leastwise, I hope they can’t. C’mon, sweetie, cut it out. Don’t be such a drama queen.”

“But it’s the only kind of queen I know how to be!”

“Hey.” Ralph patted Lamar’s shoulder gingerly, as if afraid whatever he had might be catching. “Look at it this way. It ain’t 2014. It’s 2013, the sequel. Same shit, different stink, y’know?" Lamar bawled louder. "Aw hell.” Ralph threw up his hands and walked away. “Hey, I tried. Who wants cake?”

“You want some cake?” Lamar asked Nick through his sniffles. “I really wanted a piñata.” His eyes filled up again.

“It’s fine. It’s perfect. Couldn’t be better.” Nick cut himself a hunk of cake and took it back to his office, leaving Lamar and the party/wake in Jamie’s hands. Whoever claimed reptiles were cold-blooded had never tried to work with Lamar.

2013, the sequel. More of the same, only worse.

Nick nibbled the cake—it was actually tasty—then picked up his phone and dialed Rattigan’s Pub. “Hey, Louie? Nick,” he said when the rat answered. “Next time Gil comes in, give him the biggest drink you make. Put it on my tab. Tell him I know what he has to put up with as mayor and I understand completely.”

A Horse is a Horse - Unless...

“Come on, Jonesy, go get your paint on while I finish with this.”

“No.”

“Don’t flake on me now, cuz.  This is going to be awesome!”

“Says the guy who won’t be sporting purple balls for the next month!  And I really don’t get that.”  Jonesy pointed to the cardboard cut-out now painted in offset purple stripes.

“It’s a Palomino.  Word is Talbot’s Peak has been overrun with horses, dude.  So, of course, the purple fairy needs a purple horse.”

“Well that’s a zebra, Trevor, not a horse.”

“No man, it’s one of those multi-colored palomino horses.  See different shades of purple.”

“I think you mean paint horses, not just palominos and paint horses have beautiful curved splotches, for lack of a better word, not lines.  Lines equal zebra.

“What do you know of horses, Jonesy? This here is a palomino ‘horse’, now go get your spray on.”

“I know a lot about horses, dumbass.  You’ve just never asked me anything about my loves before.  And that is an African Zebra!”

“Your ‘loves’?  Oh man, you sound like such a pussy…you know that black animal with the white stripe down its back…”

“That’s a skunk, man.”

“…now are we going to have to get you painted the hard way?” 

Jonesy watched his cousin stand and brandish a paint can his way. 

“You know, Trev, I have a better idea.”

###

Trevor sneezed for like the millionth time from the smell of spray paint that had yet to leave his nostrils.  The horse hair he’d snipped from the one in the zoo where step-dad number two worked, kept pelting him in the face and his balls were chafed from exposure to the cold mountain air.  He couldn’t believe how strong Jonesy really was until his cousin had held him down and painted him purple then slapped this horse costume on.

This was such a great Halloween prank, if he did say so himself.  Dress up like the nude purple fairy riding a purple horse and leave bags of purple painted poo on doorsteps.  It was still a few weeks before Halloween so who would suspect it. 

Perfect! 

“Until Jonesy and his love of horses.”  Trevor muttered to himself.

You know what, no bigs.  He still had his, mighty handsome, purple fairy; his spanky striped palomino pony cutout and a chariot nee’ little red wagon of purple poo.  He was set to wreak havoc on the town of Talbot’s Peak.

##

“Ohmygod, ohmygod…where is everyone?”  Daisy rang the front desk bell, eager to tell someone what she’d seen. 

“Enough with the enthusiastic jingling.  What do you want, young doe?”

“Ah, Ralph, right?”

“Yeah, yeah…what do you want?”

“Where is everyone?”

Ralph yawned, leaning heavily on the counter.  “Ziva and Penny had some “thing” with a Texas Longhorn, half the staff just turned into horses including Nick who, no kidding, galloped out of here snorting and Mr. Ed-ing about the different things he was going to make out of the Southie—Longhorn chops, steaks, ribs and even ground chuck.  He was good and pissed.  Looked funny coming from that horse face.”

“Is anyone available to take a picture or two?  The nude purple fairy is back and get this, he’s partially dressed like a purple…zebra.”

“What for?”  Ralph asked.

“Got me, but he keeps saying giddy-up and spanking the zebra’s butt like he’s on a horse.”

“What an idiot…let me get a camera.”
~~~

Nude Purple Fairy's, crazy costumes and a town overrun with horses due to a 'curse' gone wrong...yep, Halloween in Talbot's Peak is at hand!

Have a great weekend and may you find the perfect costume!

Serena

Oops, Now Nick's Gone and Done it Again!

“Friday again…”  Nick mumbled, fingers flying over the tablet’s keyboard as he made his way onto the balcony that overlooked the G & B’s crib.  The workers scrambled below, gathering up their stories and making last minute calls to verify the validity of claims in said articles. 

It was chaos, albeit organized chaos and Nick loved it.

“Getting down to the wire, people!”  He shouted, startling some of the newbies with his booming voice.  “Pull your scat together and get me your stories.”

“Here ya go, bossman, the info you requested on my new lovelies.”

Nick looked over at Penny, tilting her red leather shod foot this way and that while waving the paper in her hand.  “Wolfman never showed up so what’s this for?”

“In case you want to do a little gifting.  They do have them in black as well.  You know…someone’s favorite shoe color.”  

The cacophony in the room rose another decibel—too many voices all going at once…nerves on edge, the putting to bed of this addition just hours away.  Nick tapped away at the tablet, reviewing stories already turned in by speedy reporters.

“Nick, are you listening to me?”

“Boots, gifts…I hear you, Penny…”

“—Penelope.”

“But I haven’t done anything wrong…Ralph,” he roared the reviewers name.  “Get your ass to the morgue and see if you’ve done this movie review lately, it sounds familiar.”

“You don’t give gift just when you’ve done something wrong, Dickhead.”
Nick shot his assistant and friend a warning glance, both of them knowing he’d never follow through with his actions.

“Ziva!”

“Stop yelling, Nick, I’ve almost go it ready to go.”  Ziva barked back at him.

“I’ve not reviewed this movie before, Mr. McMahon.” His movie reviewer sneered, lumbering closer.  “Just post it!”

“Nick…”  Penny continued to shake the paper at him.

“You gonna post it?” Ralph harrumphed.

“One more second…” his mate sing-songed his way.

The room was noisier and noisier.  Something was about to give and he’d bet even money it would give in the worst of ways as was always his luck

“Come’on Woman, shake it and bake it!  I need that copy!”  Nick bellowed.

The silence in the room was absolute and made his skin crawl.  He looked up from his work only to acknowledge the shocked looks from his staff bouncing between him and a sight he just knew he didn’t want to see down the hall.  Yet he lifted his head anyway.  Better to face his mistake now rather than trying to brush it off.

“I’m sorr…” He tried, but she was livid.

“Shut up.  Just shut up.”  Ziva stomped in his direction, face redder than he’d ever seen and her right eye twitched uncontrollably.

“Please let me apologize…”

“No, you listen here, Nicolas Taggert McMahon…”

Gah, his full name, in front of other people, she was beyond pissed.

“…It’s one thing to call me Woman like that at home during play time, but not at work.  Then to add such a sexist remark as to make it seem my best skills are ‘shaking it’ in the bedroom and ‘baking it’ in the kitchen…  I just lost all respect from my co-workers.”

“No one will disrespect you, Ziva!  No one!”

“They already do and you can stop it…your words saw to that.”  She quickly swiped at her eyes making Nick feel about one inch tall.  There were tears starting and he knew she hated for other to see her gentle emotions.  “Here’s the website layout all ready for you to approve and post.”  Ziva tapped her tablet once to send controls his way.  “Now, I better be off to see if Dante has any jobs available at the Pleasure club since this job just went down the tube.”   

Nick watched his mate walk away and he was unsure of what to do.  Wasn’t she going overboard?  Her job at the paper was set in stone; he would have it no other way.  People wouldn’t disrespect her, if anything they’d feel sorry that she had such an asshat of a mate. 

“Ah Dumbass Bossman,” Nick looked over at Penny and snagged the paper she still held out.  “You know it’s going to take more than an awesome pair of boots, right?  And don’t say ‘a purse too than’”

“I know.”  He did know.  He needed a grand, ultra grand gesture, but what was the right one to go with to get him out of this scat load of trouble?
~~~

Oh Nick, once again not thinking before you speak.  You'll be lucky if the punishment for this includes ropes and nakkiddity! ;)  ~Authors shaking her head~

So, as I wrote this flash I found age kicking me in the ass in the form of a lost word.  Gah, I hate that!  Now, maybe ya'll can help me out.  Does anyone know newspaper jargon?  I'm pretty sure I didn't dream this up, but what does a newspaper call it's newsroom rather than newsroom?  I used crib above, which I know is not what I'm looking for, but for the life of me I can't pull out of my head the word I'm looking for...I think it starts with a C but I'm not 100% on that.  Man, getting old sucks!

Allons-y!  As my favorite doctor would say...Let's go and have a great weekend everyone!

Serena

Disclaimer

Ralph Rates ‘Em
Movie Reviews by Ralph Bruin

Okay, I’ve had it with you people. I like movies. Nothing beats walking into a cool movie theater on a hot day or a warm den on a cold day and settling in for two hours or so of slam-bang entertainment. When they’re good ain’t nothing better, and when they suck I’ll tell you about it. I don’t need any help figuring out what my opinion of any given flick should be, and I sure as hell don’t need you bottom feeders casting the whatchacallums, aspersions on my personal life. That ain’t your business, bucky.

The other week I said my bit about the Fast and Furious franchise. It’s got fast cars, street races, lots of crashes and guys being guys. What’s not to like? In my opinion, the movies just got better when they added the Rock. I stand by what I said in that review: in a perfect world, all movies would have the Rock in them. So what if he can’t act? Neither can Arnie. He’s there to be Mr. Macho Alpha Guy, and he’s damn good at it.

But some of you overeducated overthinkers hadda go and write me letters about what you thought I was really saying. Let me tell you, you’re a bunch of sickos with too much time on your hands.

First off, I do know the man’s name. I know he’s Dwayne la-de-dah Johnson now. That’s just for the movies. He’s still the Rock, the Most Electrifying Man in Sports Entertainment. I’m talking from personal experience here. I went to one of the WWE’s stadium shows back in the day, and I’m telling you, my armpit hair stood on end, that’s how charged up it got in there when the Rock came down to the ring. I hate to burst your bubble, all you whiny little Hogan fans, but the Rock is the greatest wrestler who ever lived. Anyway, it doesn’t matter what you people think, you damn jabronies.

As for you, Mr. L. B. and your pervy mind, and you, “Lorelei,” if that is your real name, let me make this nice and clear in short words so you can get it through your heads. I AM NOT GAY FOR THE ROCK. The man’s a helluvan entertainer and a helluva performer in the squared circle and I admire him for what he brings to the table and THAT’S IT. END OF DISCUSSION. If I had the chance I’d shake his hand and NOTHING ELSE. You got that, Mr. L. B. who didn’t even have the guts to sign your full name? You should be writing smut books, your brain is so twisted.

Anyway, you’re ignoring the real star of these flicks, Vin Diesel. Why don’t you pair me up with him while you’re at it? Dude’s got more testosterone per square inch than any given NFL team, and yeah, that includes the Denver Broncos. You want to drool in your Cheerios over him, be my guest. I just like watching movies where the men act like men and not like wishy-washy asshats afraid to say boo because somebody might get their diapers in a twist. C’mon. If a zombie army came shambling into your trailer park, Mr. L. B. anonymous pervert, who’d you want watching your back, Johnny Depp or the Rock? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

So, to recap my review: go watch the whole Fast and Furious series and see if I’m not right about it. Except for Tokyo Drift, because Vin Diesel wasn’t in that one and anyway it sucked. I mean, jeez. You got Vin Diesel for starters, and then the Rock’s in 5 and 6. Plus all the action and the car crashes. If that’s not good enough, then there’s just no hope for you.

And the next time you want to make guesses about my personal life, don’t. I like chicks, Lorelei, and I’d be more than happy to prove it to you. Bring a bottle of Manischewitz. As for the rest of you, keep your damn opinions to yourselves or else get your own damn review column. Next you’ll be trying to tell me wrestling isn’t real.

# # #

“Oh dear dog,” Nick groaned. “There’s no way I’m running this. It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“It’s his opinion,” Ziva said. “That’s what we’re paying him to write. Anyway, he’s got a following. Small, but vocal. And occasionally he even reviews a movie.”

“The Fast and Furious series is up to six now? Did I miss when the apocalypse happened?”

“I agree with his assessment of Vin Diesel.” Ziva licked her lips. That prompted a growl out of Nick. Ziva snickered. “Just run the usual disclaimer. ‘The opinions of this columnist do not necessarily reflect those of the Editorial Department.’ Next week he’ll have his back up over something else and he’ll have forgotten all about this.”

“As long as nobody tries to convince him pro wrestling’s fake. I mean, of course it is, everybody knows that. Maybe somebody should warn him. Do a pre-emptive strike.. Ziva, sweetheart … ”

“If you want to keep your alpha status, you’ll end that sentence right there.”

“Yes, darling.”

Truth In Advertising

Ralph Rates ‘Em
Movie reviews by Ralph Bruin

I was going to review the new Rock movie—he can call himself Dwayne Johnson all he wants, he’ll always be the Rock and I can smell what he’s cooking—but I got a bone to pick with whatever dumbass comes up with film titles. A lot of people pick their flicks based on whether the title sounds good, so that title damn well better describe what the movie’s about. Accurately, I mean. That ain’t always so.

Take last week. I was flipping channels and I see this movie coming up called Night of the Iguana. And I think, hot damn, monster movie, hordes of lizards chomping on stupid humans. I am so down with that. Well, screw me and my expectations, because there weren’t any lizards, giant or otherwise, in the whole damn thing. It was about some douchebag preacher boning the local skank. I don’t want to see that! I want to see dinosaurs knocking buildings over and crushing cars and monkeys running through the streets screaming and wetting their pants. Contest time: two free passes to the Talbot Twin to anybody who can tell me where the goddamn iguana was. Otherwise call it The Preacher’s Randy Prick or something, so the viewer knows what he’s getting into.

Or Cloverfield. Sounds British, don’t it? All la-de-dah, Hugh Grant on some country estate trying to get into Gwineth Paltrow’s pants. Well, guess what? That’s the monster movie. Cloverfield is about this big alien motherfucker ripping up New York and wiping out all the whiny turds who are too stupid to live anyway. Seriously, does the title Cloverfield conjure up pictures of space monsters trashing New York in your head? Mine either. They should of switched those titles. Night of the Iguana for the monster movie and Cloverfield for the skank flick. Makes a helluva lot more sense that way.

Now Terminator, that was a bait and switch. Yeah, it’s got Arnold and guns and people get wasted and shit blows up and stuff. But when Arnie’s not on screen, it turns into a chick flick. The guy’s a wuss who came back through time for Twu Wuv and the chick’s got this annoying voice that makes me just want to claw her face off. She’s better in the sequel, she gets all buff and kick-ass and yeah, I’d do her, but that first one, gimme a break. But at least the title was accurate. For most of the movie Arnie terminates the holy hell out of people. You can always fast forward past the chick flick crap.

What I’m saying here is, Hollywood, if you want to make money and we all know you do, put a goddamn title on the goddamn movie that tells us what the hell it’s about. None of this artsy, look-how-clever-I-am scat. Look at Alien. Or Snakes on a Plane. Simple and direct. There’s a reason those flicks make money. It’s because we know what we’re spending our seven or eight bucks on. C’mon. A River Runs Through It? Through what? My basement? I don’t want to be exposed to you and your fucking literary pretentions. I just want to watch a good movie.

While you’re at it, make more flicks like The Avengers. That movie was awesome.

Okay. G.I. Joe. I’m giving it five bear claws because the Rock’s in it and because Joe ain’t no chick flick wussy boy. He’s a real American hero. You don’t like it, go watch TV. I’m out of here.

# # #

“You know, Nick,” Ziva said, “I don’t think Ralph’s cut out to be a movie reviewer.”

“But he makes some valid points. You did think Hugh Grant was in Cloverfield.”

“My mistake.” She shuddered at more than the memory. “It’s just that his taste in film is a little … basic.”

“Well, we can’t make him a food critic. He’s been banned from almost every restaurant in town.” Nick slapped his desk. “I’ve got it. We’ll give him an op-ed column. Let him go to town on whatever pisses him off. Like a grizzly bear version of Andy Rooney. Come to think of it, ol’ Andy may have been a grizzly bear. Or some kind of bear. He was always grumpy, like he never got to hibernate long enough."

“I’m still not sure we can trust Ralph with anything in writing.”

“True, but it will get him out of the newsroom.”

Ziva smiled. “Op-ed column it is.”