Lent’s 2nd Sunday… PLOT!

Saturday was total fail; I had grown tired – no, tired is not the right word – I had grown tired of writing thousands of words about Gary and his family that are just about Gary and his family.  This is a business, after all.

So I bite the bullet and go get some rye whiskey (swidt?) and dark vermut.  Easter is my cutoff time for such, after all, and outside of Ohayocon I’ve been drinking cheap wine.

Thanks be to God and rye:  I lay down about 1800 words, some of which are below the fold, and at long last, the plot has arrived!  PS  If you’re offended by teens making out, skip what’s below… and get the eff off my blog.

“Your sister is in grave danger of going down Pavel’s path of insanity, uhh!” Henge muttered before moaning in pleasure.

“I agree… ummm!” Gary covered his love’s mouth with his.

Kneeling before one another on Henge’s Beach, the two young lovers covered one another in kisses.

“He… he… her belief in our superiority is totally unfounded! God forgive me! Hold me tighter!” Henge cried.

Gary did. Pulling her a little up so he could put his left hand under the top of her swimsuit and cup her breast.

“Fa… father,” he gasped against her neck, “tries to make her older of her limitations at home… mmmm…!”

She’ll have a hickey from that…

“…but she does not see the bounds here! In your ho… home!”

Completely lost in making out with one another neither noticed when Arpad Rigó came over the strand, wearing a speedo and with a grey towel over his shoulder. Like any good former special ops noncom and later junior diplomat, he kept his mouth shut and observed.

If she can go all the way, I now understand why my nephew is so taken with this machine girl.

Henge was a rock in his arms. Gary froze as well. She looked right.

“Welcome, future step-uncle!”

She slowly disentangled herself from Gary, her hands running all over him as she stood. With an unselfconscious tug, her bikini top was back in place. A bow had her light purple hair in a wave forward.

Because of Dorina’s experiments in realtime transference Gary was aware of the bulge in his swim trunks. He ignored it and stood and bowed as well.

“Uncle,” he said. “You had news for my Intended’s family?”

“Yes.” Rigó did everything he could to not smile; the scene before him at such serious odds to what rumor he had heard.

“And what rumor is that, mister Rigó?” Henge walked up toward him, a light white cotton sarong appearing about her.

He realized that if they can read surface thoughts, why wait?

“The broken girl: Tracy.” In his periphery he saw little Gary flinch. “Rumor is that her brother, Ryan, plans to EMP the earth; burn all electronics beyond the telegraph.”

He saw Gary freeze.

“He plans,” Rigó kept his eyes on the target, “Miss Henge, to murder the world to kill your family.”

Gary saw Henge fall to her knees, her face on her hands on the sand. He ran to her and dropped.

“Crédo in Déum, Pátrem omnipoténtem, Creatórem cáeli et térræ. Et in Jésum Chrístum, Fílium éjus unícum…” she paused. “Beloved, I have alerted my family! Pray with me!”

Henge returned to the Apostle’s Creed, the start of a Rosary, where she left off. His Latin poor, Gary took her hands, his head to hers, and prayed with her.

After a moment’s understanding as to what the kids were doing, Arpad sighed and walked a few paces in the sand toward them. He knelt, too.

“Üdvözlégy Mária, kegyelemmel teljes, az Úr van Teveled, áldott vagy Te az asszonyok között, és áldott a Te méhednek gyümölcse, Jézus,” he said softly, next to them.

This will not end well, he thought.

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