Conning The Con Artists
Chapter 2- That's Interesting
"Faster, brother of mine, that dastardly vagabond is right on our tails!"
"The machine's giving all she can, Flam! I don't think she'll last long befo-," I reply, but a loud snap interrupts my explanation. The next thing we know, our beloved Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000 ('Suzy' for short) is somehow transformed into a pile of mashed potatoes.
Without our vehicle to support us, we both fall into the gooey substance face-first. It is a bit degrading, but nothing compared to how the rest of the land is going down the chute. I raise my muzzle up, brushing aside the obstruction to see what's going on. Sadly the scenery's all the same, upside down cottages and multi-colored fields of jello. I glance over to my brother and feel relieved that we're both okay, but I fear that our safety is even more in jeopardy.
Crazed laughter echoes around us as we push ourselves up from the mess, forcing us to look about wildly. The loud cackling immediately stops just as soon as it started and we're left in momentary silence. Well, as silent as barking cows, musical fences, and whistling spiders will allow. However, a quiet pop quiets all the ruckus and none other than Discord, the very Spirit of Chaos, appears before us.
"Mentlegen," he greets, smiling wickedly at us.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I awoke abruptly, breathing heavily as if I had just run a race. Slowly, my heart steadies itself and I realize that I'm now sitting upright on my bed. I rub at my eyes a bit, grateful to see afterwards that I am safe in my room.
What the flogging molly was that?! I've had some weird dreams for sure (not to mention that one about six arms, last time I ever drink that much), but this one really takes the cake. Everything looked like some bizarre kids' amusement park on acid, especially that weird dragon thing. That wasn't even the strangest part though. The dream felt like a memory, like I had experienced it before.
Better send myself off to a loony bin before I even consider that thought. It made no sense! Sure, things felt familiar and that... horse... horned thing, whatever called me 'brother', but what am I supposed to make of that? If I took every dream I had seriously, I'd have three ears, a talking bear, and a pumpkin for a grandmother. No thanks.
It's at this point that I notice I'm not alone in my room. Sitting in the corner, trying to hide and doing a horrible job of it, is a heavier-set girl with long black hair. She lets out a quiet squeak and blushes deeply when she sees me look at her. "I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry, I was never here!" she exclaims, rushing out of the room.
Story of the poor thing's life. That's our 'adviser' who looks after the house when we're away on business. Bit of a long story with her. You see, Maxine grew up in the same orphanage as we did. At the time we didn't really notice her, mainly because she was six years younger than us and usually kept to herself. We did, however, notice the punks that tried to commit some very ungentlemanly acts upon her. I say 'tried' because we sure as hell put a stop to that when no one else would.
After that, we practically became her big brothers. While we weren't able to help her get out of the orphanage the same time we left (partially because we left illegally), we did come back to 'adopt' her when we stabilized our operations. She's been with us ever since then, quirks and all. Don't get me wrong though, she's a great help around the place. Just a little... out there sometimes.
"Mornin', Maxi!" I call out, hoping to stop her before she runs out of the house from sheer embarrassment. I hear quickened footsteps down the staircase and can't help but chuckle. You should have seen her reaction the first time she walked in on me dressed down. Gadfrey, I thought the house was on fire with how fast she ran out.
Regardless, it probably was time to get up anyway. I glance over to my clock and see that it is a bit later in the morning, just past 9:30. My fingers absentmindedly scratch at my leg, causing me to look down at the source. My late-night discovery re-intrudes my mind as I see the apple slice tattoos again.
I still can't think of any reason those dingbats would have put them on me. Some new branding of their own division? 'The Fruits?' Guess I've seen stranger things, but it's still bizarre. My musing suddenly makes me wonder if they marked up Jim as well.
I push the thought aside for the moment, favoring a shower and getting ready for the day first. Even while I'm washing up though, my mind remains on the tattoos. Rinsing in the shower, trimming my mustache a bit, and brushing my teeth I feel like I have one eye fixed on them the whole time. All things considered, whoever created them did a fairly good job. They seemed to jump out of my skin yet remain natural and familiar. Like they belong ther-...
"WHAT THE HELL?!" Jim yells loudly from his room. The shout breaks me out of my daze and I exit the bathroom. Before I leave my bedroom though, I pull on a set of track pants quick and make my way to my brother's door.
I knock briskly and ask, "Something wrong, Jim?" A loud scuffle resonates from inside his room until he violently opens his door. Naked again, lucky me. I'll tell ya, Folger's knew that the best part of waking up was definitely not seeing your brother's junk.
"You bet your stupid mustache there is! I think those drug-lords screwed me!" he says angrily, eyes wide and teeth bared. Odd, his hair seems like it grew quite a bit overnight.
Before he goes on a rampage through the house, I raise my hands gently. "Slow down there, brother. Want me to get a mannequin and you can show me where they touched you?" I ask jokingly.
My jest proves successful as his rage lowers a bit and he lets out a sliver of a smile. However, he shakes his head and tries to regain his anger. "No, ya big idiot. They gave me freakin' tramp stamps!" Jim exclaims, pointing at his thighs.
I ignore the misnomer and glance at the specified marks. Sure enough, there are a pair of tattoos of... I'm not entirely sure. My body instinctively crouches down to get a closer look, but Jim jumps away. "Oh calm down, Skippy, we're not in that German prison again," I chide, raising a brow at my brother.
He relaxes and steps to the side so I can better see the tattoo. Strange, looks like a red apple with a slice of it missing... sonuva-...
"Ya see! Now, I don't exactly know that country's culture, but I'm fairly sure that this was their own way of saying they took something from me. Like an organ or something," Jim says, waving his hand at the new ink.
"Jim."
"I mean, it's not their typical fare of some skulls or the Mary Virgin or whatever," Jim continues, missing my interjection.
"Jim."
"Some deep insults behind it, too, I bet. Probably means that they think that I'm- WHATAREYOUDOINGPUTYOURPANTSBACKON!" my brother shouts at my sudden undressing.
What? He wasn't listening.
Without saying anything, I point at my left thigh and match Jim's position. His face pales as he looks back and forth between our tattoos. "Sonuva-."
"My thoughts exactly," I reply. My apple slice tattoos are almost dead-on matching with his incomplete apple tattoos. They leave both of us staring at the two before I ask, "What do you think they mean?"
Jim shakes his head, scratching at his neck. "Hell if I know. That you're gonna put your apple slice into my-,"
"Don't you dare complete that thought," I interrupt sharply. "This is weird enough as it is, I don't want to even consider that they were into incest. Jeebus, that's terrifying."
Before my brother can reply, I pull my pants back up and turn around. "I'm gonna fix breakfast while you get cleaned up. Maybe Maxi can help us with these later, even though it's private. She did help take that splinter out of your pe-," I almost finish my sentence, but I notice Jim is giving me a death glare worthy of Satan's minions.
He narrows his eyes further and says, "We agreed to never speak of that again." With that, he slams the door shut and leaves me alone in the hallway.
Yep. This is a typical morning for us.
I wander back to my room to put on a shirt before walking downstairs to the kitchen. Maxine's nowhere to be seen, but she might be working on something in the basement. Pulling the fridge door open, I grab a package of bacon from one of the drawers.
Bacon: the true breakfast of champions. Seriously, everything about it just screams excellence. The sound of cooking it is like an audience cheering, its scent is heavenly, it's crispy and oh so savory. The only downside is that you cook a pound and you only get a bookmark. Oh well, gotta love that bacon.
By the time I have a full platter of cooked bacon, as well as some jammed toast, I hear Jim descending the stairs. He's clothed and still seems a bit peeved when he enters, but his mood brightens when he sniffs that wonderful aroma. "Ohhhh yes, praise Lord Bacon."
"Praise!" I respond, jokingly raising my spatula as a salute. Mornings just go a lot better with bacon, let's face it. True, that bacon's gonna make ya thirsty... for more bacon. It's a miracle food.
"Save me some, save me some!" We hear Maxine call out from downstairs. Not soon after does she emerge from the basement, carrying some large, flat box with her. She smiles widely and nods to both of us. "Mornin', Cal. Mornin', Jim."
"Mornin', Maxi," we both reply. I finish dishing out our meal while Jim gathers some mugs for orange juice. He glances at the box and asks, "What's that for?"
Maxine blushes a bit, setting it on the counter. "Well, it's your birthday cake for yesterday, but you guys never showed up. What happened?"
"I'd tell ya, but then I'd have to kill ya," Jim jokes. He sets the filled mugs on the table and takes a seat, grunting. "Thanks again for the help on Cal's present, it really paid off."
I double-take at his slip and widen my eyes at Maxi. "You helped him with that?! You know it was a bomb, right?"
She fidgets, twiddling her thumbs and not answering my question. My brother grins wickedly and says, "Technically it was her idea."
"Was not!" Maxi protests immediately. She rushes over to me and stands a little too close for comfort, hands put together in some pleading notion. "Cal, I didn't know that he was serious, I thought it was a joke! You know I'm careful with that material. I would never use it like that!"
I raise a hand and take a step back. "Easy there, Maxi. No harm, no foul. If you're really choked up about it though, you can make it up to me with some of that cake."
Maxi nods quickly and darts over to the box she brought up. Jim shoots me a look as I take a seat next to him and asks, "Really? Cake for breakfast?"
"S'cuse me, Princess Vodka, but cake's got eggs, flour, milk, and all sorts of nutrition. I'm set," I respond with a smile. Jim looks away at the mention of the nickname from our time in Russia. I kid you not, he drank his weight in alcohol while we were there. It'll be a miracle if he doesn't die from kidney failure at his rate.
Our little banter is interrupted though when Max brings over the cake box and lifts the flap to reveal its contents. "Would you like a corner piece of just an edge?" she asks, pointing with a serving knife.
I half-glance, but immediately look closer when I notice how the cake is designed. Great Scott, this behemoth was beyond worthy of the title 'cake.' What I first thought was just some green frosting all around it, is actually an intricate detailing of a US dollar bill.
Not just that though, the center seal that usually features an important figure in US history (remember, friends, Franklin wasn't a President) is taken by two individuals. Namely, Jim and I. The artwork is insanely well done with our caricatures, almost like a real photo. Our cake-selves look extremely cheesy though, back to back and grinning ear to ear. 'Presidents Cal and Jim Braxton' is written in a scroll below the portrait, along with the usual fare you'd see on cash.
"Daaaayum," Jim manages to utter. He leans closer to admire the dessert, glancing up at Maxi. "Where'd you get this masterpiece?"
She blushes profusely and whispers, "I made it."
Both of us sit upright in our chairs and stare slack-jawed at her. Neither of us are able to form a coherent thought due to that fact with the cake's majesty.
"It's not every day you turn twenty-five. I wanted to make this year's cake really special, as sort of an extra thank you for everything," she continues, her eyes downcast at the floor. She glances at us when we don't say anything and she cringes. "Oh no, you guys hate it, don't you? I knew I should have just-,"
"It's... amazing," we somehow reply in unison.
Our response immediately lightens Maxi's mood and she smiles brightly. "I was hoping you'd say that. Even though it's a day late, Happy Birthday!"
Jim and I stand from our chairs and go over to give her a hug, saying our thanks. She's way too thoughtful. While we're standing, I'm able to see the cake at a different angle overhead. "Fantastic job, Maxi. How'd you even make this?" I ask, pointing at the design.
"Oh, that was easy. I just calibrated my lasers on a weaker setting to 'carve' the cake after I made the design," Maxi explained.
Jim's attention from the cake is diverted when he catches the first part. "Wait, can you adjust those to remove tattoos?" he inquires.
Maxi shrugs at the question. "Sure, but it'll probably hurt like no other," she replies. A grin crosses her face as she realizes something. "Got some regretful ink last night?"
"We both did, unfortunately. Some kinky cartel members put some weird tattoos on us," I cut in, snagging a piece of bacon and munching on it.
"Oh," Maxi says quietly. She leans over to me and whispers, "Is this gonna be like that one time when I took a splinter out of Jim's-"
"Hey! Hey! What part of 'we've never going to speak of this again' was not clear?!" Jim interrupts, throwing his hands up. He groans loudly and sets them on his head, scratching at his slightly longer scalp. Sure did grow quite a bit from yesterday. "And I gotta cut my hair again, keeps growing like a weed!"
He's about to walk off, but Maxi stops him by gently grabbing his shoulder and saying, "Hold on a sec, Jim." When he looks back at her, her eyes widen a bit and she grins. "Awwww, you're finally growing a mustache."
"What?!" we both shout in surprise. Jim touches his upper lip, feeling for the accusation. He looks over at me and, sure enough, there's some darker hairs growing there. "Ugh!" Jim groans. "Now I'm gonna look like this clown."
"You know you love it," I reply cheekily, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "We're gonna be twins!"
Maxi's head tilts to the side. "Wait, what kind of tattoos did they put on ya? Are they matching?!" she asks, failing to hide her amusement.
"Ugh, fine," Jim mutters. He lowers the side of his pants to reveal his apple-missing-a-slice tattoo. He glares at me and I soon follow suit, showing my apple slice tattoo. We stand still for a moment while Maxi looks over the ink.
Her smile widens further and she begins laughing, holding a hand over her mouth. "No way," she chortles. Without another word though, she rushes out of the room and down to the basement. Jim and I glance at each other, unsure of her reaction. However, we soon hear her running back up the stairs. "Are you telling me that you were kidnapped by 'bronies'?!" her question carries hints of ridicule with it.
"'Brownies'?" Jim asks, puzzling over what he thinks she said. "Is that what we're calling the cartel now?"
Maxi chuckles again, returning to the kitchen with a laptop in her hands. "Bronies. I'm surprised they're still out there, the show ended years ago. Guess we're a harder breed to get rid out."
"What show? What are you talking about?" I ask, just as confused as Jim.
Maxi clears her throat and sets her laptop on the table. "'Bronies' are fans of that latest generation of 'My Little Pony.' Looks like the tattoos they gave ya are cutie marks of two of the characters from an episode in season 2."
Jim raises a brow. "'My Little Pony'? 'Cutie marks'? Why do I feel more violated than what I originally thought the tattoos meant?"
We both ignore his complaints (myself even more because incest is NOT cool) while Maxi brings up some pictures on her screen. Bizarrely enough, I soon see an exact copy of what's on my thighs on what looks to be these horse things. I don't know, I didn't ever watch cartoons. I guess they're grayish-olive colored horses with a horn coming out of their heads. They look really familiar though, sporting some sort of vest and tie along with a straw boater hat. Their hair is a bit two-toned,mostly red with some white flowing through like uncooked bacon.
"So these two are Flim and Flam. Jim, your tattoos match Flam's, the one with the mustache. Cal, your's match the other one, Flim," Maxi explains. While the other horse things around them are mostly feminine, these two carry some masculine traits, especially with one having a mustache. It could be worse, they look rather dapper and-..
"Good lord, that's what our tattoos our from?!" Jim asks angrily. He shakes his head and begins walking away. "Even if it was a compliment, they didn't match us correctl- what the hell am I saying? Screw this! Soon as I cut my hair and shave this stupid mustache, I want this ink off. Maxi, kindly arrange your set-up to remove these tattoos and then we'll take ya shopping."
We silently watch Jim go upstairs, partially amused by his grumbling. I shoot a glance to Maxi and hold out a plate, saying, "I'll take a corner piece, by the way. The tattoos can wait with how majestic this cake looks."
She smiles and cuts a piece for me, setting it atop my plate. "You got it, President Flim."
President Flim. That has a bizarre ring to it. Must have been another nickname for Nixon.