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Cafferty | Tennyson
Tricks and Treats
Sat Dec 10, 2005 10:48

The costume had absolutely no wings, but it did have tights.

Sean eyed himself in the mirror, ignoring the mumbled threats on the other side of the door. John was on the other side, reluctantly in his very jolly, very green outfit, no doubt plotting all sorts of neferious punishments for the wounded actor once the night and party were over. At least the guest bathroom was decent sized, enough to climb into this garb without injuring himself in the process.

There was still bruising on one side of his face, but much of it had been toned down with stage makeup borrowed from the Playhouse care of his sister. Lucy was such a lovely thing, if perhaps too eager to help out. Since he'd been forcibly hauled through the front door the day after getting out of hospital, his life had been one long pity party -- with himself as the recipient!

It wasn't just Luce either. John had become this overprotective gorilla; why Sean could hardly go to the bathroom by himself without the giant offering to help. Well, actually, he could understand his own appeal . . .

"Cafferty! Get your ass out here right now. People are already arriving."


Tarzan was growling now. Sean gave himself a once-over, decided that everything was in its place and finally opened the bathroom door. His lover was standing there, irate expression changing visibly as he took in the actor's costume. A very tight bodysuit, or leotard, displayed every inch of Sean's nicely toned frame, black and white squares checkered across the entire thing. His blond hair was hidden under a dark, wildly outlandish wig; eyeliner had been carefully applied. His injured arm was still in a sling, but the hand grasped a microphone.

Could it be? Would he go that far?

"Can anybody find me ... somebody to love ...."

Oh, yes indeed. Sean Cafferty was doing a fine impression of Freddie Mercury, the deceased lead singer of Queen. Tossing back his head, the newly resurrected rock-n-roll god gave John a very cheesy grin before sauntering past, pausing to glance sultrily over his shoulder. "Darling, I put the ho in your Ho, Ho, Ho." Apparently someone was feeling a litte better. At the top of the stairs, knowing the ex agent was still watching, Sean wiggled his ass in the skin-tight suit before leisurely strolling down to the ground floor.

His sister was standing in the entry way, dressed in the costume that he had almost brought home. A delicate pink leotard and tutu graced her slender form, translucent fairy wings just behind narrow shoulders. Deep brown hair had been lightly dusted with sparkles, half of the mane swept into an artfully arranged mess. It left her neck available for nibbling, which Caleb would no doubt do whenever he emerged in his costume.

There were already guests arriving, Ben and Hugh had just settled themselves in the living room. Both were dressed in drag; Ben had opted to portray the Wicked Witch of the West and was thus suitably garbed in a hideous black gown, hat and appropriate green face paint. He looked pretty damn good, considering his height and age. Hugh, much to the amusement of other guests, was wearing a long, pigtailed wig, a custom fit blue gingham dress and carried a stuffed Yorkshire terrier toy in a basket. The ruby slippers were just icing on the cake.

There was a third person on the couch with them, Sean recognized her face first without looking at the costume. "You! You saved my life..." And thusly tugged her upright, assaulting the disguised officer with a hug.

"But darling, you know you'll have a wonderful time. Aren't these people your father's friends?" Isabel Marchand leaned against the doorjam to her daughter's bedroom, dressed sublimely in a space babe outfit. Despite being in her late fifties, the celebrated author looked almost twenty years younger, red hair cut in an attractive pageboy style.

Sonnet eyed herself in the mirror, wondering if she would ever look that good at 58. Isabel had taken the time to run over to the Metropolitan Operahouse and returned with a costume she swore up and down would fit her daughter perfectly. Mom had funny ideas, but she couldn't argue with how well it fit her personality.

The long navy trousers outlined her hips after being taken in slightly, the shirt and coat hid everything below her neck and till managed to hint at curves. A cone-shaped hat, a whistle and a baton completed the outfit .... well, and the fake mustache that Isabel had just finished gluing to Sonnet's upper lip.

"Mom, I haven't sung since high school. There is no way I can pull this off."

"Nonsense, darling. You look fantastic. Your cop friend will think so, too. And you will call me tomorrow morning so I can hear all the juicy details. But not too early, of course." With a tweak to the policewoman's nose, Isabel swept herself into the hall and out to the living room where her own date awaited. Barely ten years older that Sonnet, the hunk du jour was dressed (more than likely on his date's orders) as Han Solo. "Come, my dear, or we'll be more than fashionably late to the Mayor's ball."

The apartment seemed empty without her mother's presence. Sonnet slowly hung her street clothing over the back of her vanity's chair, and exited the bedroom as well. With no distractions, it was not hard to conjure up Devon Holmes' face, glowering so good-naturedly at her at the hospital on Wednesday. It had been her second trip there while on patrol, and she was too good a cop to take time off that wasn't neccessary. However, the poor sod needed some looking after, so she'd dumped him with Hugh at her father's apartment after agreeing to this measure of insanity.

There was an unwritten rule in the precinct that cops didn't date each other. Yet here she was, about to do exactly that with one of her own superiors. Oh, god. Sonnet worried about it silently in Ben's car all the way from her apartment to Devon's brother's home, in the northern part of Manhattan. It was a neighborhood she knew well, Isabel had once owned a house in the area, when Sonnet was just a child. Then they'd moved to a large penthouse when her mother had suddenly been discovered on her fifth book's publishing.

And now she was being strangled to death by ... a nineteen seventies rock star? No, wait. Cafferty, Sean. Sonnet's mouth dropped open. "You look wonderful!" Hazel eyes lingered on the sling currently holding an arm cast, dutifully scribbed on by unknown graffiti artists. "I mean, for ..." Sometimes, the officer thought, it would be nice to have inherited a measure of her mother's moxie.

"I owe you a drink, Sargeant." The actor's eyes were sparkling in recognition of her Gilbert and Sullivan costume, apparently he and her father alone had ever seen The Pirates of Penzance. Led firmly away from the couch, she eventually found herself in the kitchen with Sean and ... the Jolly Green Giant, who refused to leave Mister Mercury's side, rummaging through the bottles of booze in search of something delectable.

Lucy, aka the Sugar Plum Fairy, joined them soon after, chatting about everything and nothing in particular. Sonnet couldn't help but suspect she was being set up for something by this family, the back of her neck tingling faintly as if someone had just blown gently across her flesh.

"So you're Devon's date for the evening." It wasn't exactly a question. The man who spoke was handsome, defintely a decade older than her mother, and owned Devon's sparkling eyes. He stood in the doorway, effectively blocking sight of the door and entry, dressed in gunslinger garb. It suited him.

"Yes ... yes, sir. We work together. Sir." Nerves hit, dulled only slightly by the rum and coke she'd been sipping on. "I'm Sonnet Tennyson," she extended a hand automatically, mentally wondering at the twinkle in the man's eyes.

"James Holmes. A distinct pleasure to meet you, Miss Tennyson."

Devon's father! Oh god. She could feel the heat rushing towards her cheeks. The only thing that could make this worse was ...

"Hey, Tennyson."

Devon, standing somewhere behind his father.

Was it too late to run?

  • Interludes for the IneptCaleb Holmes et al, Tue Dec 6 00:14
    Ah-ha! Spic and span. Falling into the office chair situated behind the desk, Caleb heaved a sigh of relief. No more empty soda cans, no more ashes and cigarette butts everywhere, the office was... more
    • Tricks and Treats — Cafferty | Tennyson, Sat Dec 10 10:48
      • Politicking with BanistersWilliam Wallace, Sat Dec 10 18:31
        Slowly, ever so slowly, he had been making amends with his family. One by one Devon had approached them, caution flaring in both parties. Jane had been the easiest to win over, Benny was indifferent... more
        • Dead Man's PartyAnony Moose, Fri Dec 16 12:52
          I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go. Walkin' with a dead man over my shoulder . . . There was nothing like a damned good party. Especially one hosted at your brother-in-law's house where you... more
          • Alarming Fronts... And BacksCaptain America and Frozen Vegetables, Fri Dec 16 16:38
            Devon was currently watching Benny, who was insisting on giving the ladies a supposed ‘tour’, while quoting Willy Wonka lines, still nursing his first beer of the night. Hell, he had to drive home... more
            • Over the rainbowMunchkins, Wed Dec 21 01:24
              Errands. What a polite euphemism for the chore about to commence. Janey sat in the front seat of her father's car, punching in the number of a cell phone. Jeff waited patiently in the driver's seat,... more
              • Shots FiredGeno | Holmes, Wed Dec 21 10:47
                “Alright, Daddy. I'd better get out there and do this before he objects again.” John groaned, holding his head between his hands. All he had wanted to do was go take a look at the bastards that had... more
                • Black Knight's WorkRobin, Fri Dec 23 00:39
                  Dark deeds and secret matters, you can fix it but it doesn't last Bright flash, the mirror shatters, who's reflected in the broken glass? "Nobody knows the trouble I've been ... nobody knows my... more
                  • Comforts and NewsCastelluccio | Holmes, Fri Dec 23 15:04
                    “Here, sweetheart. Why don’t you take a shower? It’ll make you feel better.” John mindlessly accepted the large towel placed in his grasp by ‘Mom’, allowing himself to be steered toward the bathroom. ... more
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