A thin, weak crescent moon crawled onto the night sky, desperately trying to cover itself in the fuzzy blanket of clouds, intimidated with its disability; stars twinkled coyly, winking at Gaius Tiberius Lucian, sitting at the patio of his brand-new home; he blew out the puff of smoke, grinning contently as he closed his eyes, bathing in the rays of weak moonlight.
Things seemed to straighten out for the old dog he was: he was engaged in serious relationship now with a lovely and loving lady, plans were being made for the marriage... Cheerilee moved in to his place several months ago, and her household was being rented by the students, providing some additional bits income; not that they needed money, of course – Moon had a handsome stash, and not one, deposited in several banks in the offshore zone, but never did Cherilee found out about that; she just enjoyed her life of going-to-be-wife, making their new home comfortable, retaining her position as the CHS teacher.
Moon also stayed at school, teaching Music and directing the Rainbooms; he also applied for a coach assistant position, making coach Spitfire poke fun at him every time the man appeared at the archery range of the school.
Ah, the good times, he mused, crushing the cigarette butt in the ashtray and putting hands behind his head, eyes wandering idly among the star-speckled void above him.
The good times.
“Shiny, would you like some coffee? I just made some, and I think I've overestimated myself...” - Cheerilee's curly head poked into the patio. - “Guess that's too much for me to handle. A little help?”
“Okay.” - smiled Moon, patting the seat near him in the patio swing set he was occupying. - “Come here, sweet lass; let the old and wrinkly uggo hug ye.”
The lady giggled, but obeyed, taking a seat near the man, cup of coffee in tow:
“It's not your famous brew, but, I think, it's good. Considering it didn't boil over...” - she rolled her eyes, tenderly nuzzling the man's hand.
“Thank ye kindly, sweetheart.” - he smiled, pulling her closer into the embrace. - “Tis a fine night, ain't it? Look at all them stars above.”
“Magnificent...” - sighed Cheerilee, awestruck at the sight. - “I haven't been just sitting around like this, looking at the stars, cuddling with someone for how long?.. Uh..?”
“Oi, don't sweat it, Cheers.” - the gentleman planted a small kiss to the lady's hand. - “Just sit 'ere and let the magic do its work.”
She sighed contently, putting her head to the man's shoulder, and they sat quietly, feeling each other's warmth.
The good times, sighed the 'conscience'.
“Aight, bandits – let's get over it again.” - blowing a whistle, Moon nodded to the class. - “Now that the warm-up is all done, this 'ere obstacle course is what you should do. I'll be in the end, marking everyone's time down; the one with the worst time is going to hit the deck and give me twenty; that okay?”
“Sir, yes sir!” - chanted the class, standing at attention. They're learnin' well, chuckled the 'conscience' darkly, keep it up.
“Aight! First, Rainbow Dash!” - jogging over the side railing of the obstacle course to his position and grabbing a clipboard with a list, Moon ordered. - “Show us how it's done!”
“It'll be done in ten seconds flat, coach! Well, maybe less. Give or take...” - huffed the prismatic-haired athlete, rolling her shoulders; Moon nodded at her and raised a whistle to his lips:
“On yer mark!” - Rainbow positioned herself at the starting line.
“Get set!” - the girl straightened her legs, propping the rear slightly upwards; Moon observed the reaction of the male part of the class; Snips and Snails, the two slackers, got their eyes glued to the girl's curves, and he couldn't help but allow a faint grin to appear. Them haz much hormones? There's a gooood way to deal with it, the 'conscience' cackled.
“MARCH!!” - blowing into a whistle sharply, Moon clicked the button on his sports watch: he observed approvingly as Rainbow was expertly passing the obstacle course with economic, fluid movements; she flew over the mud pit, rolled under the 'duck stroll' – two wooden stocks with planks attached low enough to effectively restrict a person from jumping or climbing over, forcing the one to crouch to pass under or to roll under it – and made her way to the archer's position; quickly slipping on her handguard, the athletic girl grabbed a bow and inhaled deep, lining her shot; the target was thirty feet away and moving, and she needed to hit a bullseye to continue.
“Seven seconds, Dash!” - he notified, observing as the girl was standing stock still, bowstring pulled all the way back to the ear; wait for it... wait for it...
The arrow hissed through the air, hitting the geometric centre of the target precisely with a loud thump, allowing the final barrier to drop and allow Dash her further progress to the final obstacle: to finish the course, she had to pole vault over the seven-feet high plank; grabbing the pole on her dash across the runway, Dash aimed...
...and flew graciously over the plank, not even close to touching the plank. With a flip in the air, she landed graciously, flicking a strand of her rainbow hair away:
“So?!”
“Ten seconds flat.” - replied Moon, flashing the athlete a thumbs up. - “Awesome, as usual, Dash.”
“Heh, that's cuz I'm awesome.” - the girl grinned smugly, returning a thumbs up. - “It's pretty natural, u know!”
“I presume everyone had seen Miss Dash's performance?” - Moon addressed the awestruck class. - “Now, those of you who doesn't feel like pole vaulting – due to physical incompetence or fear of heights – can omit the part, and your obstacle course ends at the archery range; those of you eager to give a shot – you're welcome. Now, Snips! On your mark!” - the short, chubby juvenile delinquent nervously shuffled on his feet, glancing to and fro.
“Me?!”
“Aye, fine sir, it is your turn to show us your physical prowess!” - Moon curtsied mockingly, earning a barrage of laughter. - “Pray, honor us with your magnificent display!”
The short boy nervously staggered to the starting line.
“On your mark!” - Snips audibly gulped, posing himself.
“Get set!..” - the boy was sweating bullets, and he didn't ever started the exercise.
“MARCH!!” - another ear-splitting whistle resounded at the school grounds, and Snips darted forwards... well, he tried to. The shoelaces on his sports boots appeared undone, and he magnificently plopped down onto the grass, eliciting another booming explosion of laughter.
“Up, up, son – time's tickin'!” - Moon encouragingly shouted, grinning to himself deviously as he watched the boy's turmoils; Snips and Snails were two slackers and troublemakers – harmless, though, but annoying, and he felt like giving this couple some proper schooling...
...and the sight was simply magnificent: all the Snips' cheeky attitude was washed away with the waves of sweat, as he huffed and puffed his way through the obstacle course, clambering in the rope ladders, rolling over the climbers, clumsily dancing against the pendulums; time ticked away mercilessly, and Moon even allowed himself an ominous hands rub, anticipating how would he relish in the sight of those two buffoons hitting the deck.
Snips, however, managed to climb out of the mud pit he had fallen into after his rope swing had gotten him onto the edge of the platform and his prodigious rear just outweighed him, earning another fit of roars from the audience, and grabbed a bow; first arrow, shot hot out, landed merely a foot away from the moving target; the second followed suit, and so did the third... time ticked away almost forty seconds, as Snips finally managed to hit the edge between the red and yellow zones, narrowly making it.
“Now, get the pole, son!” - shouted Moon, earning an eager head shake:
“I – I can't do it, sir! I just can't!!” - yelled Snips. - “I'm not... I'm not really an athlete!!”
“Okay then!” - Moon grinned. - “Dismissed! Your time is forty-nine point seven seconds, son! Get back to class!”
“Next: Applejack! Go!” - the farmer girl was determined and agile, scoring fifteen point two seconds. - “Outstanding! Fluttershy, go!” - the timid animal lover was surprisingly good at archery and pole vaulting, scoring nineteen seconds. - “Attagurl! Rarity!” - the pale seamstress fiddled with her hair, done in a ponytail, at the start, losing three seconds before graciously accomplishing the whole thing, scoring a good honest twenty-one point three. - “Way to go, miss Belle, just pay less attention to your looks when you're commanded to start. Next – Pinkie Pie!” - the pink fuzzy mass bolted through the whole course easily, even taking her time to swing on the rope sideways with an elated 'EEEEEEE, SWINGSETS!!', doing a backflip from the pole vaulting in a striking fourteen point one second. - “Pinkie, you're so full of surprises as usual. Next, Sunset Shimmer!” - the fiery headed girl flashed a smug grin, positioning herself; she made it through the course just by the book, scoring sixteen seconds flat. - “Great! Now, people, I think we can make it interesting...” - Moon flashed students a coy grin. - “I'm going to challenge any volunteer to this, and, if I win, the loser's gonna what I say for the rest of the lesson; if I lose, well... better fire up your imagination! So, who's up?!” - everyone's hands bolted upwards, and Dash even skipped in place, squealing 'Pick me! Pick meee!!', until Moon raised a hand, cutting off the noise instantly. - “I challenge only those who haven't done the course yet! So, anyone?..” - he scanned the faces of the students; Flash Sentry seemed hesitant, Cherry Garden was weighing down pros and cons, Snails was standing dumbstruck, Snowflake snorted in deep thought... Snails.
“Oi, Snails, my friend – why dontcha give it a shot?” - Moon called out, startling the lanky dimwit. - “Come on, son, I'm old and wrinkly; you'll outmuscle me in no time!” - Moon stepped closer, effectively cutting Snails' escape route and grabbing a firm grasp on the startled boy's arm:
“Come on, sport – look at me an' lookitya self! You're young, vigorous and strong, your confidence almost makes me feel small and whispers to me submit already!..” - he taunted exquisitely, earning the first stifled giggles from the audience at the sight of Snails' dumbstruck face, as he was pumping confidence in him, as if inflating a child's trampoline castle. - “Come on!”
“You really think I can beatcha, coach?..” - twanged Snails, feeling something stir in his chest; that must've been his pride.
“Yes, I do! I believe so! Not that I'm gonna go easy on ye, of course, but that's only adding to the spirit, eh? I mean, lookitcha – strong, long legs of an athlete...” - Rainbow Dash simply doubled over, laughing her lungs out, rolling on the soft grass. - “...wide shoulders, strong arms...” - Sunset followed suit, collapsing on her back, hugging her sides tight, as if in fear her ribs might crack with the sheer power of laughter. - “...aquiline profile of a natural-born leader! Aye, aye, fair sir, I do believe in you!!” - Moon finished his praisings, looking the invigorated Snails in the eye, doing his best to suppress the coy grin that was stealthily creeping up his face. - “Don't listen to what others tell ye, mate – I can see the potential inside you! Now you go there and make me proud, boi!!” - with a slight push to his back, Snails, puffing his chicken chest out with pride and vigor, positioned himself on the starting line, glancing around with triumphant gaze, while Moon gestured to the Flash Sentry:
“Flash, c'mere, my good man...” - he handed the boy the clipboard, his timer and the whistle. - “I believe you know the drill?”
“Sir, aye, sir!” - grinned the guitarist, making a beeline to the end of the course. - “On yer mark!!” - Moon cracked a knee and joined Snails, who now sported an arrogant look to his face. - “Get set!!” - now the man couldn't help but grin ominously: it was his very favorite part; sure he knew it wasn't fair – to poke fun at this snail-minded klutz, but the attitude of those two kind of got to him bad; they weren't exactly the bullies, they were the doers for the bullies, but that was as much disgracing as the bullying itself – even worse, in Moon's eyes.
“GO!!!” - the whistle cut sharp into the man's ears, awakening some long-given-up-on instinct to move, to give it a hundred and twenty percent; he, however, allowed the Snails to get a headstart, relishing in the cheers of the class; then he dashed after the boy, easily catching up with him at the first obstacle: a jumping bars. Hovering over two at once, Moon glanced back at Snails, who was striving to keep up the pace, slight hint of the arrogance at the start still present in his features, mixing with the exertion. Moon took it down a notch, proceeding to the climbers, and hesitated for a brief second to allow Snails vault over the wall first; then, with a quick pull-up, the man managed to ace the obstacle, easily jogging nose-to-nose with Snails, who plopped onto all four to crawl under the 'duck stroll'; Moon, however, just accelerated and, when he was a couple of feet away, dropped to the deck and power-slid under the planks, earning himself a boom of cheers; it was only mud pit as of now – a mud pit and a dangling ropes, meant to swing the user over the pit to the archery range; Snails was quick enough to grab the rope first, hauling his long, lanky frame over the pit with a bit too much force; his toes scraped against the platform, never catching enough friction to land, and the momentum dragged the boy away, swinging to and fro, making funny sounds of surprise and shock; Moon grabbed the rope promptly, pushed – and, after a brief second relishing in the voice of the wind whistling in his ears, he let go, landing on the platform and grabbing a bow; he waited for Snails to finally land on the platform, desperately striving to retain his balance, and finally grab a bow.
Lining his shot at the pacing target, Moon exhaled, letting loose the string; it snapped stingingly against his unprotected wrist, sending the arrow directly in the bullseye; for him the path was open, while Snails was still trying to make heads or tails on how to put the arrow onto the string.
Tired of the little game he was rigging to his favor, the man just vaulted over the plank, landing not too gracefully, but solid, earning himself a whistle from Flash:
“Mister Moon, twenty-two poin one second!” - and bowed curtly to the audience, washed over in cheers.
Finally, Snails appeared to find out how the bow works, and lined his shot; was it a smile of Lady Fortune or some unexpected prowess in archery, but his first unsure, shaky shot narrowly missed the bullseye; second arrow came even closer, while the third leisurely hit the inner brim of the yellow circle; he, however, proceeded to the pole vaulting part on shaky legs.
“Snails, that's 'nuff!” - Moon called him, but the boy didn't seem to hear; picking up the pace, he accelerated... touchdown... and he flew over the plank, flipped in the air and landed onto his feet, arms splayed wide, eyes as wide as saucers in utter shock; the class was befuddled, jaws hanging low, eyes wide, but then they washed the startled Snails in whistling, cheering and applauses.
“Snails, your time is thirty-one point seven seconds!” - announced Flash, indicating the end of the trials with a whistle. - “Nice job!”
“Indeed, my friend – as I said, I never doubted you!” - praised Moon, patting the boy's shoulder. - “That was some mighty fine performance, mesay!”
“Uh... but did I win?..” - twanged Snails, blinking away the shock of flight.
“Uh, no – yer archery still needs some polishing, m'boi, but you've done well! In fact, you're second last in class!” - shrugged Moon, taking his gear from Flash Sentry. - “Looks like we still have a class to keep on. We'll talk later.”
The rest of the trial went smooth – even though Snowflake not-just-cracked the jumping bars with his weight – and Moon gave the whistle to indicate the end of the class:
“Aight, people – we still have a smidgen of time till the actual end of the day, so... Snips'n'Snails – gentemen, please, step forward!” - the two troublemakers stepped up reluctantly, unsure of what Moon has in store for them:
“Now, gentlemen – I believe we've had an agreement that whoever shows the most time to do the course, will hit the deck and gimme forty, aight? So, you may proceed – but with one last feature...” - he glanced towards Rainbow, flashing her a smug grin:
“I couldn't help but notice that the two of you were pretty interested in miss Dash's... musculi maximus gluteus; I trust your expertise in the matter of physical fitness, fine gentlemen, but allow me to retort 'ere: for a proper gentleman, it is unbefitting to show his interest so... boldly.” - he flashed another gring to the chuckling and giggling students. - “So, I wish you to do the following...” - he leaned closer to Snips and Snails, whispering something into their ears. - “You got me, I believe?”
“Sir, yes sir!!” - chanted both delinquents, deeply flushed. Moon nodded:
“Then, I trust, you shall proceed! Class, I'd humbly request the rest of you to stay and wait for these fine men!”
Snips and Snails dropped to the ground and began doing push-ups, chanting loudly with each repetition: “I! - Shall! - Not! - Gawk! - At! - The! - Ladies'! - Bottoms! - Behind! - Their! - Backs!”.
Of course, the class was rolling on the grass laughing again; Gaius Tiberius Lucian, aka Moon Shine, praised himself with his professionalism.
“I heard today you've made Snips and Snails chant the promise not to gawk at the girls during the phys-ed?” - Cheerilee inquired, cuddling closer to Moon; the night was still young, and the fireplace was humming its song softly, bathing the room in the warm glow.
“I might have done that, aye...” - chuckled Moon Shine, caressing his lady's silky curls; they felt so nice.. - “Me just ain't in favor of them bullies and them lickspittles, is all.”
“They're not that bad. They're just... boys being boys, you know...” - Cheerilee sighed, closing her eyes. - “Wasn't that a bit extreme – to embarrass them in front of everyone?”
“They're embarrassing themselves on the daily basis.” - retorted the man. - “By the way, me was never caught ogling anyone.”
“Don't you say you didn't!” - giggled Cheerilee, feeling Moon's palm slowly creeping down her body to her waist.
“I said, me was never caught...” - he replied ominously, nesting his palm finally on the curve of Cheerilee's hip. - “But of course me did! I'm a man or what, for Gog's sake?!”
“Oh, you are...” - the lady replied, giving him a bedroom look. - “No one ever doubted that... But if I'll catch you...” - she smirked smugly. - “I'll remember where my naughty boys' paddle is!”
The man shuddered with fear of the threat:
“Oi, ma'am, no need to be that harsh, mesay!” - he mimicked the fear quite plausibly. - “Me's a good boi! Me doin' assigned readin', always good and all... Don't bring out the paddle, me beg of you!”
“I'll consider it...” - replied the teacher lady condescendingly, giggling at their little roleplay. - “Aw, Shine. You're still the same...”.
“Why wouldn't I be?” - the man inquired, but the answer was cut short with the sudden ring of the phone:
“Ah, bloody lousy nogood... I'll get that.” - kissing Cheerilee in the forehead, he jumped up from the couch and grabbed his phone; idly pondering who could call at such hour – the number was undefined, obviously relayed from elsewhere, he hit the 'Answer' tile:
“Aye, Moon Shine 'ere.”
“Hello, Gaius.” - croaked the unfamiliar voice, making each hair on the back of the man's neck stand on its end. - “I trust you're havin' a good time?”
“Indeed, me have the most wonderful time.” - Moon replied dryly, retreating deeper from the living room. - “Mesay, I never had the pleasure to know who you are, fair sir.”
“Does it even matter?” - a particularly nasty cackle resonated in Moon's mind, making him clench his fist tight. - “I know you, that's more than enough, I say. I know who you really are, and I have the proof. But I'm so bad at keeping secrets, and so generous and charitable, that I might just spread the word to let everyone know what I do.”
“Oi, keep it down a notch, will ye?” - Tiberius struggled to keep his voice calm and collected as a proper gentleman must, but a dark, cold knot of fury squirmed somewhere in his chest - “Now, say, what is the exact matter of you calling me this late? And, if ye have any offer or question to me, mesay we should sort it out right off the bat, ye catching me drift?”
“Oh, I do have a question...” - the croaking voice taunted. - “I wonder, if the lovely lady o'yers knows, who you are? Aurora is out of question, of course – she herself is neck-deep in lies, and yours are merely a drop in the ocean, but that lovely lady there... does she know, how much bullshit did you fed her? And the others... Ohh, this is going to be so good...”
“State your conditions.” - nodded Moon, clenching his jaw; by this time he already made it out that the croakiness was unnatural – a voice changer, no doubt, but would he manage to identify the position from where the call was made? At least that?! - “Ye hold interest in money? Me can pay. State your price.”
“I do not need your money, silly...” - the croaking voice scolded almost in a motherly tone. - “It's not something you can just pay off, Tiberius. It's way more... complex.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I just want to let everyone know the truth, usee?” - giggled the voice. - “I'm the Purveyor of Truth, paragon of justice and defender of the oppressed! I am the Overseer!..” - the voice simply screeched with pathos, and Moon felt the 'conscience' kick his brain hard, tumbling the 'taunt' switch and pushing the pedals full-throttle:
“Oi, oi, oi – are ye a marxist, mate – cuz what fancy lines ye'r droppin' 'ere sure are mighty rad! Mesay, Lenin was not even half as good with his words as ye are, say – I'm just burning in shame!” - he jeered, pouring all his wrath into the words. - “Say, why ain't we meet in person so that ye might converse me into what sick little cult ye'r brewin and drop that fancy smart disguise ye'r usin', eh? Otherwise ye'r just sad sobbing fanny, that e'en doesn't haz th' guts to face the man!”
“Don't sweat it, Senator. We'll meet. Eventually.” - the voice promised vaguely, making Tiberius stand stock still at the reminiscence of his old operational pseudonym. Senator! How, for the bloody saint nutsack of Gog?.. - “And, if I were you, I'd check the mailbox. Cya, Senator.” - the tone signals in the speaker almost tossed Gaius' control overboard, leaving him boil with anger, squeezing the poor phone in his white-knuckled fist, just-not-yet crushing it into a mess of glass and plastic.
“Shiny? Everything fine?” - Cheerilee called out.
“Aye, aye, Cheers; me just thought... ain't you up for some mulled wine?” - the man replied, putting all he had into the effort to sound natural.
“Yeah, I'd love to... need any help?”
“Nay, me got this, thanks, sweet cheeks...” - finally wrestling his shaking hands back into submission, Moon replied; whoever was on the phone, the prick was probably bluffing...
Mailbox, piped in the 'conscience', double time!!
Sneaking from the backdoor, Gaius popped the box open and felt the cool metal insides; his finger found a slip of paper.
It was an old photograph: there they were, Iron Owls, in all their glory, shot on the background of a burning warehouse; here he is – Senator, captain Gaius Tiberius Lucian, grinning carnivorously, heavy boot planted onto the back of a hogtied man; desperation and utter terror in the eyes of the hostage were practically radiating from the photo, making Moon shudder with the memory. There was Rungo, gun locked and loaded, covering their backs; there was his second-in-command, lieutenant Dusk, Twinkle, as they dubbed her; every single one of his platoon were on the picture, caught on tape.
Flipping the photo over, he had seen the caption: “Eastern Tartaria, Achikulak, Diversion Division 'Iron Owls' capturing the leader of the opposition” - and a date.
Moon's ears filled with the sounds of bells, tolling for him.
Ye never ask for whom the bell tolls, boi, gloomily prophetized the 'conscience', as it may toll for ye.
“Ye called me, cap'n?” - exchanging a quick handshake, inquired Rungo, his bald head glistening it the light of the street lamp; Moon nodded, nervously trying to light a cigarette; the matches never caught fire, breaking and splintering in his shaky hands.
“Ye seem awfully off the handle, cap. What's wrong?” - Rungo took the box of matches from the man and lit one, offering fire to Moon; he lit the cigarette, puffed deep and nodded his gratitude, accepting the matches:
“Rungo, old dog, am I glad to see you.”
“Likewise, cap'n, likewise... what's up?” - the robust man squinted suspiciously.
Moon shrugged as-if-carelessly, exhaling two streams of smoke from his nostrils:
“Oh, nufin', mate – just wanted to check out on ye, maybe, recall some ol' time...”
“Cap'n, spill the beans.”
“Look.” - Gaius dropped the act, sternly looking Rungo in the eyes, and produced the photo. - “Brings back memories, eh?”
“Oh...” - Rungo went visibly pale, even the dim lamp light couldn't conceal that. - “Achikulak? That Karabulat guy?..”
“Aye.” - gloomily acknowledged his former commanding officer, dragging the cigarette down in one pull. - “This shit was found this evening in me mailbox. Me say, you feel the wind?”
“Aye, aye, sir...” - Rungo was dumbstruck. - “This photo is sufficient evidence for any of them guys who can be after our arses; we're much-sought-after criminals, they say...”
“Ya, me did the assigned reading...” - Moon chuckled to the unintended pun. - “Bottom line, mate – some jackass wants to reveal me identity, and it ain't blackmailing or extortion we're facin' 'ere; it's some twisted do-gooder guy.”
“He called ye?”
“Aye... Tried to triangulate the fooker's call: no success. He must've been relaying the signal.”
“Or he was calling from the phone booth.” - nodded Rungo. - “Such calls are practically untraceable.”
“This only makes it worse, mesay.”
“So, cap'n – what can me help ya with?”
“Wait. Me just recalled something...” - a deep rut laid on Moon's forehead. - “That there prick... he called himself the Overseer.”
“He's fooking with us, mate.”
“Obviously. Okay, listen – this here is the phone number and the call time.” - Rungo accepted the paper slip and examined it, nodding shortly. - “I want ye to see what can ye get from that – milk it for all it's worth and beep me.”
“Looks like we're in one boat, eh?”
“More like we've got the reservations at the same gallows...” - gloomily concluded Moon. - “We better stick together tight, mate – I don't even know what in the heck tis gonna be next.”
“I'll see to what this lead can get us to.” - hiding the slip into his pocket, Rungo inhaled sharply. - “Tis settled then.”
Silence lingered for a minute, until the bald guy spoke up:
“Oi, cap? Permission to address?”
“Granted. Ye seem to learn well...” - chuckled Moon.
“How's that fine lassie o'yers? Cherry Lee was her name, or?..”
“Cheerilee. Doin' fine; had to lull 'er to sleep, before goin' here; me don't want any funny questions.”
“Aye, aye... say, when do I attend to the wedding?” - grinned Rungo, flashing a metal prosthetic tooth.
“Mesay, ye'll be informed.” - captain Lucian returned him the cheeky grin. - “And say, me thinks you were attending to the catholic school?”
“Aye, aye, sir – best in the class!”
“Say, what if you'd be my pastor?..” - grinned Moon, a sly plan froming in his mind.
“...in case things go hairy, yer marriage is liable to break, since the minister wasn't the minister in the first place...” - Rungo concluded, obviously catching the drift. - “Mesay, sir, it's cruel of you – to leave that sweet piece of...”
“Language!..” - growled Moon not-yet-threatening. - “Ye'r talking of me lady, don't ye forget.”
“...fine piece of lady like that.” - Rungo finished, with almost-well-concealed strife. - “But me understand.”
Silence lingered for a bit more; Rungo's bald forehead was peppered with small beads of sweat.
“Oi, cap?”
“What's that, ol' mutt?”
“Got smokes?” - Moon handed a cigarette to Rungo, which he accepted eagerly, pulling deep and erupting in coughs:
“Oi, bloody assteeth of beardog – what's in it?! Three-week-worn socks?!”
“Ye'r a lightweight...” - chuckled Moon, obviously toying with an irony: Rungo was easily twice as big as he was, and he wasn't the flimsy lad either.
“Thank ye anyway...” - the sergeant managed to cough out, eyes running with tears.
“Cya later, sarge.”
“Aye, aye, cap.” - shaking hands, the gentlemen parted ways, but, as soon as they've left the spotlight of the lamp, Moon called out:
“Oi, Rungo?”
“Yes?”
“Ye'r bloody right, ol' man – Cheerilee's got one bloody mighty fine piece of arse.”
The booming laughter scared the tar out of a flock of sleeping crows, eliciting angry croacks of them, making them all soar sky-high into the dense clouds, dropping small driplets of white litter on the road.
