whimpered. And the ’gator (now supine on the antique prayer rug before the door) rolled onto its back, kicked its legs in the air—and appeared to be trying to giggle.
David—stark naked again, courtesy of his own clumsiness—stared at it aghast from behind the cut-velvet chair where he had taken shelter. And then he noticed something glittering in one half-closed paw, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
The ’gator regarded him with one slit-pupiled yellow eye—and winked.
David frowned. A surge of anger pulsed through him—and not at being awakened—even as a certain doubt fought it down. “You perhaps think this is funny?” he growled, eyeing the supine reptile.
The reptile winked again.
David emerged from behind the chair, drew himself up to his full height, and fumbled one of the swords from the nail keg, with which he prodded the unwelcome visitor in its leathery solar plexus. “Shall we try for crocodile tears?”
The alligator suddenly looked very contrite, then closed its eyes. The paw-with-shiny-object slowly curled closed.
Abruptly, the tail retracted. The limbs lengthened, the snout grew stubbier, the skin smoothed. Black hair sprouted on the skull and groin as the beast acquired shoulders, hips, and a waist. And then everything seemed to twist upon itself, and David suddenly found himself confronting a handsome young Native American exactly as bare-assed as he, save that he was standing, and the visitor sitting neatly (and modestly) at his feet.
“Fargo, you asshole!” he roared.
“White ’Possum, ditto!” the other snickered through what was possibly the silliest grin David had ever seen. David found the scarf, rewrapped it, and sank down on the arm of the chair. The visitor smirked. David smirked too. Then giggled. Then guffawed. A pillow sailed in his direction from the bed. Then another. A glance that way showed Liz, still sheet-clad, fishing around on the floor for the T-shirt they had so happily abandoned the previous night. She found his instead (it was larger anyway), pulled it on, located her panties, and thus arrayed joined them by the door, pausing only to retrieve something from the landing outside. A pile of clothing, a backpack, and a drum case as it evolved, the former of which she deposited atop the visitor’s feet imperiously. “Nekkid savages are only slightly more welcome than nekkid crocodilians.”
The visitor managed to stop sniggering long enough to cock an inky brow. “So what bugs you most? The nekkid part, or the savage?”
“The early morning part!” Liz snapped, gazing carefully away as the visitor located a pair of well-used jeans and inserted his feet. “So, Calvin Macintosh, what brings you here this time of day?”
While David continued to alternately smirk, snort, and giggle, Calvin rose to secure his pants, casually shoving David off his precarious perch in the process. David toppled backward into the chair, feet in the air. Calvin ignored him. “I thought I’d cook you two breakfast in bed,” he answered brightly.
“Unlikely,” David challenged, righting himself.
“Shelter from the storm?”
David shook his head. “Storm’s over.”
Calvin looked appealingly at Liz. “I suppose unbridled desire to see two of my very best friends won’t fly either?”
Another shaken head.
“How ’bout—”
‘—Unbridled desire to scare the livin’ shit out of two people who may, at present, be having difficulty remembering they are your friends?” Liz supplied with a haughty sniff.
“How ’bout embarrassin’ the livin’ shit out of at least one of those folks?” David chimed in, helping himself to a dry pair of Levis from Calvin’s pack.
“You know,” Liz took up once more, eyeing Calvin speculatively. “I kinda like the breakfast in bed part.”
“Yeah,” David agreed. “Since we’re awake anyway.”
“But you’re already up!”
“That,” David observed sweetly, “can be changed.”
* * *
“You can blame this on
David—stark naked again, courtesy of his own clumsiness—stared at it aghast from behind the cut-velvet chair where he had taken shelter. And then he noticed something glittering in one half-closed paw, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
The ’gator regarded him with one slit-pupiled yellow eye—and winked.
David frowned. A surge of anger pulsed through him—and not at being awakened—even as a certain doubt fought it down. “You perhaps think this is funny?” he growled, eyeing the supine reptile.
The reptile winked again.
David emerged from behind the chair, drew himself up to his full height, and fumbled one of the swords from the nail keg, with which he prodded the unwelcome visitor in its leathery solar plexus. “Shall we try for crocodile tears?”
The alligator suddenly looked very contrite, then closed its eyes. The paw-with-shiny-object slowly curled closed.
Abruptly, the tail retracted. The limbs lengthened, the snout grew stubbier, the skin smoothed. Black hair sprouted on the skull and groin as the beast acquired shoulders, hips, and a waist. And then everything seemed to twist upon itself, and David suddenly found himself confronting a handsome young Native American exactly as bare-assed as he, save that he was standing, and the visitor sitting neatly (and modestly) at his feet.
“Fargo, you asshole!” he roared.
“White ’Possum, ditto!” the other snickered through what was possibly the silliest grin David had ever seen. David found the scarf, rewrapped it, and sank down on the arm of the chair. The visitor smirked. David smirked too. Then giggled. Then guffawed. A pillow sailed in his direction from the bed. Then another. A glance that way showed Liz, still sheet-clad, fishing around on the floor for the T-shirt they had so happily abandoned the previous night. She found his instead (it was larger anyway), pulled it on, located her panties, and thus arrayed joined them by the door, pausing only to retrieve something from the landing outside. A pile of clothing, a backpack, and a drum case as it evolved, the former of which she deposited atop the visitor’s feet imperiously. “Nekkid savages are only slightly more welcome than nekkid crocodilians.”
The visitor managed to stop sniggering long enough to cock an inky brow. “So what bugs you most? The nekkid part, or the savage?”
“The early morning part!” Liz snapped, gazing carefully away as the visitor located a pair of well-used jeans and inserted his feet. “So, Calvin Macintosh, what brings you here this time of day?”
While David continued to alternately smirk, snort, and giggle, Calvin rose to secure his pants, casually shoving David off his precarious perch in the process. David toppled backward into the chair, feet in the air. Calvin ignored him. “I thought I’d cook you two breakfast in bed,” he answered brightly.
“Unlikely,” David challenged, righting himself.
“Shelter from the storm?”
David shook his head. “Storm’s over.”
Calvin looked appealingly at Liz. “I suppose unbridled desire to see two of my very best friends won’t fly either?”
Another shaken head.
“How ’bout—”
‘—Unbridled desire to scare the livin’ shit out of two people who may, at present, be having difficulty remembering they are your friends?” Liz supplied with a haughty sniff.
“How ’bout embarrassin’ the livin’ shit out of at least one of those folks?” David chimed in, helping himself to a dry pair of Levis from Calvin’s pack.
“You know,” Liz took up once more, eyeing Calvin speculatively. “I kinda like the breakfast in bed part.”
“Yeah,” David agreed. “Since we’re awake anyway.”
“But you’re already up!”
“That,” David observed sweetly, “can be changed.”
* * *
“You can blame this on
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