#fluffember2020

Fluffember 2020

Alan had succumbed first, a combination of the shortest legs and the deepest sugar crash meant he had only managed a half mile before being scooped up into a piggy back by Scott.  That had allowed them to pick up the pace a bit on the enforced route march home but now, with Gordon flagging, Scott had no idea how they were going to make it back for curfew.  It was a big responsibility being entrusted with the care of all his brothers at the fair and the last thing Scott wanted was to let his father down.  Unfortunately letting him down now looked inevitable.

Virgil looked at Scott, seeing the emotions flitting across his oldest brother’s face as he fought to keep calm; shouting at Gordon rarely helped however tempting it might be.  Getting home on time meant the difference between Scott getting to go to the cinema with friends next weekend or not, he would be the only one affected if they were late.  But they had all agreed to do the walk if it meant more to spend at the fair and now Gordon was putting Scott’s plans at risk.

With a sigh Virgil shrugged the backpack off his shoulders and passed it to John.  It was stuffed full but fairly light being mostly filled with various plushies won on the stalls.  John took the bag without complaint, he’d rather carry the bag than deal with a moaning Gordon and at least it wasn’t packed full of heavy snacks any more.

“Hey, you can’t carry him,” Scott protested when he realised what Virgil intended to do.

“Well one of us has to.  We can’t leave him behind-” there was a snort from Scott suggesting that abandoning Gordon was currently a tempting prospect, prompting Virgil to shoot him a glare, “and you’ve got Alan already.”

“Well you take Alan, he’s lighter.”

But Virgil was already stood in front of the wall, gesturing for Gordon to climb on.  Sure it would be easier to carry Alan rather than the squid who seemed to have far more limbs than was normal and who seemed to be attempting to strangle Virgil as he got comfortable, but they were only about a mile from home.  He could do this.  It also hadn’t escaped his attention that Scott looked about ready to drop himself, the burden of responsibility meant their oldest had walked twice as far as anyone else as he supervised toilet trips or ran off to refill water bottles.  When you added in that he had carried Alan for most of the journey home Virgil wasn’t convinced that Scott was really up to manhandling a wriggling Gordon at this stage of the day.

Before Scott could protest any more Virgil was striding out ahead.  He wasn’t going to let Scott miss out of his treat next weekend if he could help it.

***

“I’m tired.”

The figure might be many years older and the voice rather deeper but Virgil couldn’t help but be reminded of the kid of all those years ago that would just flop down when he’d had enough.  

Gordon had every right to be tired.  The rescue had needed lots of legwork on the ground and Virgil had had it comparatively easy up in Two, shuttling about with the rescue cage.  He certainly wasn’t feeling the bone deep exhaustion that Gordon was.

As he taxied Two back into her berth and powered down a smirk played a lips.  So Gordon was tired, was he?  And what did he do for little brothers who were tired?

A indignant squawk rang out through the cabin.

“Hey, put me down!”

While Gordon had been steeling himself for the effort that was getting out of his seat, Virgil was up and making his move.  Before he was able to protest the aquanaut had been picked up and flung over one shoulder.  His world tipped upside down and he beat ineffectually at Virgil’s back.

“No can do.  You said you were tired so I’m just helping out.”

***

 Witchy was upstairs, resting (or trying to) and the others were relatively calm in the lounge, which is always a little suspicious. Personally, I would have gone to the training room to lift some weights or do a few fan forms, but I felt I shouldn’t wander off too far in case someone needed a reminder not to go and bother her. I was pondering about catching up on my reading or doing some office work when Virgil arrived from the hangars holding a flat box. “I was doing some cleaning and found a bin of old toys… Remember that game, John?” he asked, putting the box on the lounge table.

The box was faded and something told me that it was old enough to be not only from when the boys were kids and before I arrived on the island, but before that when Jeff was young. Why he kept some of those things, I had no idea. The garish yellow colour was an assault to the eyes in itself, and the silly-looking man pictured there didn’t improve things, nor were the bold red letters forming the word Operation.

John glanced up from his tablet and smiled. “Alan used to stick the tweezers on the edge and let the buzzer ring to no end until dad stopped him and gave him something else to do,” he said.

“Gordon used to tap rhythms and songs with the tweezers,” Virgil added.

“Did Jeff stop him and give him something else to do?” I asked.

“He’d wait for dad to be off with Alan to do it.”

“Then Scott would slap him upside the head,” John finished.

I barely managed not to roll my eyes. I can’t say I was surprised.

Alan opened the box and peered inside. “It requires batteries,” he commented, taking everything out.

Virgil went to fetch some in Jeff’s desk.

“Are you sure about this?” John asked.

Virgil shrugged. “It’s one way to pass time.” He smiled. “Afraid you lost your touch?”

“Not at all. I’m trying to spare you from a crushing defeat.”

All Tracys are competitive. All of them. Even quiet, suspectless John.

“Did I hear crushing defeat? I’m here for the show,” Gordon exclaimed, appearing from nowhere and eying the game on the table. “Wanna play, Kayo?”

I laughed. “No. I’ll take a seat in the peanut gallery,” I said, settling down in my usual launch seat. “I can handle the bank if you want.”

Let them ridicule themselves. I took the pile of false notes from him and Virgil distributed the specialist cards between the four brothers.

“So how do you play?” Alan asked.

“You pick a card and try to remove the part indicated on it. If you succeed, Kayo will pay you. If you fail, whoever has the specialist card can have a go and earn twice the amount if he succeeds. Whoever has the most money at the end wins.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

I saw the exchange between Virgil and Gordon and I think John’s mouth quirked. Nothing was simple with them. Not even children’s games. Why do you think I was sitting away from them?

They let Alan have a go at first. He picked Water on the Knee and successfully removed the plastic bucket. It was handed to me so that I could pay accordingly. John picked the Wish Bone, but as he positioned his hand over the board, Gordon leaned over and began singing close to his brother’s ear to try and distract him. John declared his tactic amateurish and also succeeded.

Apparently, the unspoken rules Tracy version of the game was to try and distract whoever was playing so that they failed. This included John shouting “Look out!” at Gordon at the last moment, Gordon imitating the buzzer sound each time Virgil approached the tweezers from the board, Alan—who caught on very quickly—inching his fingers close to the board as if he was going to rattle it when John had another go and Virgil fully integrating his youngest brother to the game by whispering something to him, which earned him a reply that I can’t write here.

The rowdy game was fully underway when Scott stepped into the lounge. “What are you guys doing? I can hear you all the way from the office,” he complained.

“We’re playing Operation,” Alan replied.

Scott seemed surprised. “I didn’t even know we still had that. I thought you took it apart when you were ten to see how it worked, Virg?”

“And put it back together. Wasn’t that hard.”

“Want to join us?” Alan invited him.

Scott seemed to hesitate. “I still have things to do and I should go back.”

I had to bite my lip to hold back my laughter when someone—and I think it was Virgil!—clucked like a chicken. And as expected, Scott took the bait. He sat down next to John while I was handed back all of the money and the specialist cards were gathered and redistributed.

“Hey, you can’t reset it, I was winning!” Gordon protested.

“You were not. I had $100 more than you,” Alan stated.

Gordon huffed, put the pieces back inside their respective spots, then couldn’t resist playing “Shave and a Haircut” with the buzzer. Scott’s reaction was instantaneous and he reached out to slap the back of his brother’s head twice without even missing a beat.

They all played a first round with varying degrees of success. Watching them play was more entertaining than actually playing. I began mentally assigning scores to their distraction tactics.

When it was his turn, Scott picked Writer’s cramp. The irony of the situation was not lost on me and I fought my better judgement for a whole two seconds before I decided to make a move—I am a Tracy at heart after all... I carefully shifted my weight as he concentrated and extended my arm... then at the last moment, I poked his armpit in that one location I know will tickle him then hurried to sit back straight with my bank notes in my hand and an innocent expression on my face.

He squawked like an offended seagull, hit the side of the game and made it buzz, then looked at the nearest brother accusingly. When said brother stopped laughing long enough to say it wasn’t him, he directed his suspicious eyes at me and I’m rather proud to say that I could keep a straight face and raised an eyebrow at him in return.

John was next. He picked a card... the bread basket. He took the tweezers from Scott’s hand and didn’t even try to be careful and made the game buzz in less than a second.

“HA!” Alan hooted out.

“You didn’t have to play if you didn’t want to anymore,” Virgil side-whispered to him.”

“Oh no, I’m playing,” he assured him, then took one of the specialist cards in front of him and flicked it between his long fingers before handing it to me.

He manoeuvred the tweezers with surgical precision, ignoring Gordon’s heavy breathing in his ear, and dropped the plastic slice of bread into my hand. “I believe that is $2000,” he said with a smug smile.

“Show off,” Virgil muttered good-naturedly while I counted the paper slips and gave them to John.

“My turn,” Gordon said, reaching for a card, “It says... butterflies in the stomach.”

The four others froze more or less visibly and Scott gave me a quick side-eye. He remembered the Venom incident, my aversion for the fluttery little creeps and how I made him pay for laughing at me. I ignored him and winked at Gordon. Surprisingly, he had been my hero at the time and I’ll never forget that. But that’s a story for another time.

Gordon extracted the item from the board without touching the edges. “Once again, I prevailed,” he claimed triumphantly, flicking the plastic butterfly in the air and catching it a few times.

I handed him two $100 notes and of course, Gordon being Gordon tried to take them while the game piece was still in the air. He failed, the plastic butterfly ricocheted off his elbow and landed somewhere under the furniture.

Little items like that never land where you expect them, especially on carpet, especially when bouncing off sharp Tracy elbows (I think we can all agree that they are not lumpy, Lady Penelope’s flirting techniques need a little improvement). I refused to join in on the search because, of course, too many people were there already and I was more helpful sitting in my seat with my legs crossed out of the way.

Gordon looked under the table, then moved on to the little shelf where my father’s bonsai tree and Lady Penelope’s communicator picture are located. He peered underneath, sneezed loudly, then backtracked in horror.

Screeching like a banshee, he rushed out of the seating area and fled toward the kitchen, nearly knocking over poor Witchy who stood at the top of the stairs.

“I go fight a lurgy for an hour, take a moment to get something to drink and this is what I come back to?” she said, visibly unimpressed by the sight of four Tracy butts in the air around the lounge table as they scanned the carpet.

I had to disagree with her on that, it was a rather interesting sight.

“Why is he even screaming like that, he sounds like he’s seen a ghost?” Gordon could be heard sneezing somewhere in the background and she rolled her eyes.

She strode to where he had been crouching and bent down and sighed. “Just as I thought... Scott, you forgot to close the office door again,” she said, reaching out and picking up Buddy the bearded dragon from his hiding spot before he scampered away.

She removed the plastic butterfly from his mouth and cradled him close. “I don’t want a repeat of last time when I had to get him in the vent—”

Witchy’s eagle eye spotted the twitch in John’s face instantly and he held her gaze, doing his own version of the Tracy smile to placate her. They did that fascinating wordless exchange established couples seem to be able to do for a moment and then, she then turned to me, noticed the fake bank notes in my hands and threw me a disappointed: “You’re encouraging them?”

I immediately pointed at John to defend myself. “He’s winning,” I said.

“If I draw brain freeze, I’ll be able to get you a lifetime supply of socks that don’t roll down. Think about it,” he deadpanned.

She looked at us as if we had lost our minds—she might be right—then stormed off with the dragon.

I guess I should go check on Gordon now.  And probably make a new batch of soup as a peace offering.

Author’s note: Shave and a Haircut is what “that knock on the door” is called.

Scott had started as an escape artist, creeping down the stairs or climbing out the window to join Virgil. There had been a few scraped knees and bruises from failed footing but as long as he didn’t make too much noise when he landed, Scott was normally successful. Once Scott had mastered his own transformation, he would just fly out the window to join Virgil. A set of clothes was always hidden somewhere for Scott to pull on once free. The location of the clothes changed frequently once Gordon got wind of Scott's scheme. Their younger brother would take or hide the clothes so Scott would have to bare all if he wanted to spend time with the werewolf. As much as Virgil loved his elder brother, he preferred it when Scott wore clothes. 

John was the smart one. He quickly moved on from sneaking out while Dad was distracted, and would instead set an alarm for the early hours when he knew the adults were fast asleep. He would often just spend the night sitting with Virgil, throwing a ball if required. John particularly liked to join Virgil on nights when astronomical events clashed with the full moon. Sometimes the telescope would come with him. Other times, like for the odd meteorite shower, John would just sit and watch with Virgil curled up around him. Virgil knew his body would keep his little brother warm, despite the chill that hung in the air at that time of night. 

Gordon was the one who got caught the most, but then he was the one who snuck out the most. Gordon and Virgil had a special bond, probably stemming from Gordon’s love of animals and his boundless energy that made it seem like it could keep up with his werewolf brother. There was a whole box of balls and toys which they would play with together, though they would also roughhouse in the grass or hay. Despite his strength, Gordon had never received more than a few scratches, bruises and bumps during these play fights, and this was no worse than what Gordon gave himself on a daily basis. His brother’s laughter would ring out, and Virgil was always certain that Dad and Grandma could hear it, but they were never disturbed. When Gordon started doing his early morning swim training he stopped staying up late on the full moon, and would instead get up an hour or so early and hang out with Virgil beforehand. It became a routine and meant some moons he got to spend time with each one of his brothers. 

“So, long story short,” Alan summed up, “those dumb shoulder guard things actually came in handy. Probably would’ve dislocated it without them.” 

Laurie shook her head, the silver beads on her braids making a sound akin to a wind chime. “Okay, but maybe next time tell me you sprained your shoulder before you start doing cartwheels? So I can stop you from doing something stupid?”

Alan waved her off with a grin. “That was like almost two weeks ago. I’m totally good now.” He turned another cartwheel to prove it. 

It might’ve been mildly impressive in that way most cartwheels were, except Laurie was too busy ducking Alan’s flying flip-flop to spare much attention. Alan landed on his feet, with only one shoe, the other arcing almost gracefully into the water and landing with a little splash.

Laurie laughed, standing up and fishing Alan’s wayward flip flop out of the sea. “Weaponizing footwear now, Allie?”  

She tossed it back to him and Alan caught it with both hands. “Aww, it’s gonna be all squelchy now.” 

“I’m thinking you’ll live.” 

Alan replaced his flip-flop, taking a few experimental steps. “That’s debatable.” There was definitely a bit of a pout there. 

Some things never changed. Not that Laurie could say much anything, she was the youngest of a household too, after all. Parts of it were universal.

Alan’s communicator watch chimed, distracting him momentarily from waterlogged footwear.

Laurie looked over. “Is it a rescue?”

“No, there’s a different alarm for that.” Alan said, picking up the call.  A hologram of Laurie’s older brother flickered to life above his wrist. “Eagan, hey, what’s up?”

“Hey, Al. Laurie’s still with you, right? I couldn’t get a hold of her.”

Alan raised an eyebrow at Laurie, shifting so the holo-sensor picked her up. “Yeah, she’s right here.”

Laurie gave a sheepish laugh as she fiddled with her own watch. Three missed calls from her brother. “Sorry, Eagan. It was on silent.”

Eagan shook his head. “Why does anyone even give you a communicator anymore?” Failing to pick was not an isolated incident in Laurie’s case. 

“You’re guess is as good as mine at this point. So, what’s up?”

“I was just wondering if you two were coming up for breakfast or do I need to hide your plates away somewhere?” Certain family members, naming no names of course, had back holes in place of stomachs, and noses like a bloodhound’s when it came to good food.

Alan raised a finger, tentatively asking, “So we're talking about food you made, right?” 

Eagan had his hair back in the way he usually did when he’d been cooking, although of course he could’ve only been trying to pull Grandma Tracy’s efforts out of the fire. 

Quite literally. 

Eagan’s brown eyes glimmered with amusement, visible even through the hologram. “Yes, Alan, I made the food.”

“Start to finish?” 

“Start to finish.”

The palpable relief was not an exaggeration. “Cool, we’ll be there in a second.” A swipe through the hologram and Alan ended the call. 

He threw a grin at Laurie. “Race you up?”

Laurie pulled on her shoes. As if he even had to ask. It was pretty much tradition at this point.  “You’re on. The usual wager?”

Dibs on breakfast plus whatever was in the other’s pockets.

“Sure. Don’t know if I’ve got anything good, though.” Alan rifled through his pockets. A granola bar wrapper, two dollars in Canadian quarters, and… “Oh! Gummy worms! Forgot about those.” 

The bag was half empty but that hardly diminished the novelty of the prize. Candy was a rarity on the Island. 

“Let me see what I have.” Laurie fished around in her own pockets, coming up with a small skein of embroidery floss, a packet of trail mix, and the seashells she’d picked up from the beach.

Alan eyed the trail mix. “Well, I’ll never say no to free food.”

Laurie stuffed everything back in her pockets. “It’s not yours yet, Alan.”

“Key word being ‘yet’.” He said, drawing a line in the sand. “Fair warning, I’ve been going on runs with Scott and I’ve gotten really fast.” 

Laurie grinned, a spark in her eye. “Just count us off already.”

Alan counted back from three and they took off like unbottled lightning, sand spraying up from their shoes, leaving laughter in their wake in lieu of thunder.