Chapter #64A Breakfast of Champions by: Seuzz   "Are you nuts?" Frank shouts at his brother. "Are you seriously suggesting that we--?"
"Where's your sense of fun, Frank? Oh, right, you left it back in the orphanage when Dad brought you here. It's safe as houses, nothing wrong with--"
"What did I tell you, Will?" Frank says to you. "If I don't sit on him he'll get into the masks and fuck around. Didn't you get it out of your system with Fat Eric?"
"Oh, Fat Eric, lotta fun that was." Joe rips into another slice of pizza. "I was thinking of putting on Tina Branson, seeing what she looks like under--"
Frank turns a shade of color somewhere between red and purple; Joe springs backward, bouncing off the bed to crouch in a corner of the room. "Hit me if you want, Frank, I'm just telling you the truth!"
"Which is why you need a good punch!" But he ignores Joe, and stalks to the bathroom door, which he kicks open. Joe vanishes. "Yeah, I saw what you did," Frank growls as he hauls Joe from the bathroom by the scruff of the neck. He throws him onto the bed. "You think I'm blind?"
"What does Prescott think?" Joe shouts. "If him and me outvote you--"
"I think it's a bad idea, Joe," you say. "You start fucking around with masks, and the next thing you know--" You lightly brush your nose. "You don't have a face anymore."
They both fall silent. "Well put, Prescott," Frank says, though he sounds a little abashed.
"But Tina!" Joe groans.
"Fucking invasion of privacy," Frank says. "Put it outta your head."
Joe sighs deeply, unhappily. "Then what are we gonna do? Been here only two minutes and already I'm bored."
"Could you tell me what's going to happen to me?" you ask.
"That'll kill a few hours," Frank says. "And we'll make an early night of it anyway. How soon can we head over to Dad's?"
"Six," Joe says, sitting up. "I made an early start, took it easy on the way back after dropping off--" He smothers the rest of the sentence in another slice of pizza.
"Well, the first thing that happens," Frank says, plopping onto the bed while you take a rickety chair by the window. "First thing is that you'll meet Uncle Fyodor."
"'Cept he's not really our uncle, just like Dad isn't our dad. Not biologically," Joe says. "Him and dad aren't brothers, either, except the same way me and Frank are."
"Which is what, exactly?" you ask.
"This would be a lot easier if you still remembered the stuff that was in our heads," Joe says peevishly.
"I'm glad it isn't," Frank says. "Stellae are never biologically related to each other. I mean, I guess they could be--" He gives Joe a querying glance.
"It's theoretically possible," Joe says. "But it's not something that runs in the blood. Not like--pfft!--midichlorians. Or Harry Potter. Mind you, there are some abilities that follow biological relations, but not in our case. It's like winning the lottery."
"Anyway, we track them down when they're born," Frank says, taking up the explanation. "They pop up every few years, so there are usually several in training who are only a few years apart in age. Usually they get paired together and wind up forming something like a sibling bond. That's how it was with me and Joe. They found me in Italy when I was eight, found Joe a year later in Germany when he was eight. Dad and Fyodor were a similar case, except they're farther apart in age, and got separated early on. Dad stayed here in the States while Fyodor went to Russia."
"Why?"
"That was their business, and you can ask them about it," Frank says.
"And don't worry about geopolitics," Joe says. "Has nothing to do with us."
"Okay. But if they're always looking for Stellae, why didn't they find me?"
Joe chews thoughtfully for a minute. "Don't know," he says at last. "Unless it's the Sulva thing again. They're very rare, but Dad says it might just be that they're hard to find. The Moon is associated with eclipses, so maybe it's like they can hide in plain sight. Like you did from us, even though we were in the same town for a couple of months."
"So why am I going to meet this Fyodor guy? Why not your dad?"
"Oh, you'll meet him eventually. But Fyodor first. He'll explain. After that--" Joe pauses. "After a bit, probably, you'll start training."
"What's that like?"
"It's fun."
"But hard work," Frank says. "It's different with different people. Think he'll study with Kali?" he asks Joe.
"Oh, that's a given. She was our teacher, kind of like Yoda," Joe says to you. "But a lot prettier. A lot prettier." He laughs.
"Maybe Nash, too?" Frank says. "If Will is also a Kenandandran--"
"Yeah, probably. He'll be fun, too."
"You've told me some things about the Moon," you say. "What about Kena-- What?"
"Kenandandra. That's Pluto. Planet associated with gadgets, machinery. Toys. You like building stuff?"
You remember some of your misadventures, the dumb things you did that your dad had to clean up after you. "I'm better at wrecking things," you admit.
"Same principle," Joe says. "Taking things apart to see how they work, how to put them together again so they work better or do better things." You must have looked unhappy, for you're still remembering the way your dad would yell at you, for Joe adds, "You'll like Nash too. He's a lot of fun. You'll like everyone." Then his face falls. "Except Father Ed."
"You've mentioned him a couple of times," you say.
"No reason to frighten him," Frank says to Joe. "Let him meet the padre in his own good time. Let him talk to Fyodor first."
You talk for a few more hours as they tell you about some of their training and early apprenticeships; it's clear that it'll be a couple of years before you're up to their level.
Then you go to bed. Frank and Joe share the single bed, while you crawl into a sleeping bag that they brought along. Your mind is buzzing, and you do a lot of unfocused thinking. But sleep gradually overtakes you.
* * * * *
"Hey boy!" Joe shouts as the barking mastiff bounds up. "You'd think I hadn't left only thirty minutes ago!" He rubs the dog's haunches; it snuffles and sneezes and jumps up to put its paws on his shoulders. "This is Galaxy," Joe says to you. "Best dog in the universe."
You're in the yard of a small house in a tidy little subdivision on the other side of town from the motel. It's surrounded by a chain link fence, and you have to cross a narrow yard to reach the porch. Joe and Frank lead you inside without knocking. "Dad!" he calls when you're in the small living room. "I'm back! Again!"
A booming voice calls from another room. "You want another breakfast, Joseph? Frank! Come in!" You hang back for just a moment, for the voice sounds like it belongs to a very large man, but Frank seizes you by the shoulder and thrusts you through a doorway.
Your host turns from the small dining table, which is piled with platters of eggs and pancakes and bacon and sausages and toast and jam and cheese and oatmeal. Joe whoops and drops into a chair, to tuck in without further invitation. But you can only stare at the man who greets you.
He is big, much larger than you're capable of expecting. He towers a full head over Frank, and his shoulders are half again as wide. He has a massive beard that hangs over his chest; his head is bald, and his eyes flash merrily. He puts out a bear-like hand to grip Frank's. "Giovanni! You're more of a man every time we meet! Soon you can outwrestle me!" His voice hurts your ears. "Drink?" He grabs up a tall bottle and sloshes some clear liquid into a wide tumbler.
"It's a little early for me," Frank replies.
The man shrugs and swallows it down. "Ah! In Siberia--" Then his eye falls on you. You desperately want to hide behind Frank.
But the man reaches out to grasp you; his arms seem very long, and his grip is rough, though friendly. He beams. "And this our new one, our youngest!" He shakes you so hard your teeth rattle. "He seems a little old. And--" He cocks his head. "Why do I have the feeling I've seen his face before?"
Joe chokes and coughs loudly; the huge man slaps him across the back, almost pitching him across the table. "So there's a story here?" he exclaims. "But come, there will be time for stories later! First, you must eat!" He pushes you into a chair.
* * * * *
This is not actually Joe's and Frank's "dad", it turns out. It's their "Uncle Fyodor." "Charles left the introductions to me," he explains in that very loud voice. Three times--as though it's such a delight he must repeat it--he puts out a hand to introduce himself, and three times he almost rattles your jaw loose as he shakes your whole arm. He prepares more and more food, even as you and Frank and Joe fall behind, and when you all push back, saying you can't eat another bite, he bends over the table to wolf it all down himself. He then pulls the others to their feet--while insisting you stay seated--and sings loudly and lustily in Russian as he helps them clean up.
"Now, into the parlor," he says when the kitchen is spotless. "I am hungry for young Will's story." He lowers himself into a chair--which creaks and groans under his weight--lights an enormous pipe, and fixes gleaming eyes on you.  You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
| Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author