Disclaimer: These people belong to other people, but since the latter aren't using the former at the moment, I'm taking them out for some exercise and maybe lunch. Not only am I not making money, I'm spending money to stay online and help sustain interest in these characters. But then, aren't we all?
Spoilers: Post-"Three-Point Shot," pre-"TSbyBS."
Beta'ed: Yes, and by the usual suspect.
Author's Note: The scene was inspired by Terry Pratchett's Disc World novel "A Monstrous Regiment." Don't say you weren't warned.
Feedback: jassmoris@yahoo.com
Linda Stoops
Megan Connor plucked a kettle-fried potato chip from her plate of food, eased it into her mouth and chewed thoroughly while opening one of the two bottles of beer she brought to Henri Brown's official breaking-in-the-new-widescreen-TV party. Truth be told, this was the second party held to welcome the latest addition to the Brown household, as Ginny's friends and co-workers had feted its presence Friday night. Now it was Saturday, and a half dozen police officers -- plus one observer/"consultant" -- were settling into place around the high-tech campfire.
"Toohey's Old Black Ale? What brewery's that from?"
Megan tilted the bottle a few degrees in Joel Taggart's direction to show it off. "Lion Nathan. One of the official beers of New South Wales. My dad sent me a slab for my birthday. Can't get Old here or in Canada, so I save it for special occasions."
"Slab?"
"Twenty-four stubbies. That's this size."
"Thought all Aussies drank Foster's." Henri sailed by with his plate and brew, snagging a large dill pickle from the vegetable tray Simon Banks brought.
She blew air through pursed lips in condescending disgust. "That's what the ads tell you. It's the nearest thing to American beer we have, and you're welcome to it. We keep the real stuff at home. Foster's is what we call 'canoe-sex beer.'"
"'Canoe-sex'?" Joel shared his puzzled look when Tom Rafe and Blair Sandburg suddenly burst out laughing.
"That means it's ~COUGH~ing close to water." Jim Ellison punctuated his explanation by opening his own bottle of micro-brew lager and sinking back into a corner of the sectional sofa.
The big detective caught the allusion and chuckled. "Okay, so what does real Aussie beer taste like?"
"Depends on what you've got. Ales, stouts, bitters... whatever. And every state has its local favorite. What's required drinking in Queensland will get you laughed out of most pubs in Tasmania, for example."
Blair had sobered enough to contribute by this time. "Kinda like, you can drink Coors here, but not without problems in most of Texas."
Megan nodded, although the bulk of her knowledge of the Lone Star State was limited to the episodes of "Dallas" that her late mother watched.
Joel discarded the cap from his bottle of iced tea -- he was on antibiotics for a few days -- and collected his plate. "So, what does yours taste like?"
She shrugged, removing the top and sending it after Joel's into the trash can. "Closest it comes is toasted chocolate coffee. Some tossers think it tastes burnt, but we like it."
"Kind that'll put hair on your chest, eh, Connor?"
She pulled a slight face at Jim, who couldn't see it from his position in the living room. "Why, Jimbo? You looking for some help in that department?"
Jim turned around and gave her a mock glower while the others whooped at her parry to his thrust. The sparring and posturing that had been part of their early relationship evolved into the typical BS and teasing common in all-male groups.
"All right, people, enough chit-chat. Game's started six minutes ago, and half of you are still at the concession stand."
It was more of a need to find a good spot than obedience to her captain's order that hustled Megan into the living room. Taggart and Rafe got places on the sofa, and she claimed a kitchen chair next to an end table. There was another chair remaining for Sandburg, but it had no nearby flat surface for his plate and beverage, so he sat cross-legged on the floor and used the chair seat instead. She had teased him once about being out of shape, and found herself proven wrong during their pursuit of Jim and Alex Barnes to Mexico. Anyone who could chase after two Sentinels in the jungle after a near-drowning was made of sterner stuff than he'd appeared. She made a mental note to ask him about the sort of stretching exercises he used to stay limber, because he settled into position far too easily for his age and apparent lifestyle.
Or maybe she should look to his partner. Jim seemed more focused on staying fit, and it made sense that Blair would have to engage in some sort of regimen just to keep up. It couldn't be solely due to those godawful shakes.
Further rumination on the subject was set aside as she turned her attention to the basketball game. The sport had made some inroads back home, but it was a long way from replacing the local pastimes. Still, she couldn't complain about any activity that involved men running around in brightly-colored underwear.
As it happened, her companions were doing just that, although underwear was not the point of contention. It was the activity, or lack of it on the court, that had them moaning and shouting.
"Pass it! Pass it!"
"Throw the ball!"
"Pass to Dawson! He's open!"
"AAURRRH!"
There was a handful of seconds' silence as everyone turned to stare at the belch's source, and the commentary switched from the play on the screen.
"That's tellin' 'em, H."
"Fog's in! Barge coming through!"
"Sorry, guys. Beer got away from me." He and Simon flicked somewhat embarrassed glances in her direction.
She shrugged it off with a grin. "Uh-huh, that's what you say now."
"Hey, it was more entertaining than the game. And there goes the whistle."
As the particulars of the foul were worked out, a second sound erupted from Rafe.
"URRRRRF!"
"Ooh, input from the bleachers!"
"That's what you get from those light beers."
"Just backing up my partner."
"Think you need a better weapon, buddy." Brown jerked a thumb back toward the bowl of ice filled with bottles and cans.
Tom polished off the last of his drink and went to fetch another. This apparently signaled the beginning of competition apart from the televised game, since the next salvo came from the floor.
"BAAARRRRRT!"
"We doing names now?"
"Didn't know you were a bass, Sandburg."
"Nah, nah," Jim countered. "This is a bass... EEUUURRRRGGHH."
"Oh, really? How about this?" Banks inhaled, tilted his head down and let fly. "OOOUUUUUGGGHHHH!"
That one got a round of applause, and the game was on. Efforts were timed between plays onscreen, so as not to detract from either sets of performance. Meg joined in the evaluations, but held back on participating until she got a sense of the field.
Three seconds after the horn announced the end of the first half, she took a deep swallow of the coffee-colored fluid, opened her mouth and gave it her best effort.
"BRRRUUUOOOAAAAARRRREEEUUUGGGHHHH!"
Well, that got their attention. Poor Rafe. Him with a mouthful at the time. Hope that didn't burn too much going up the nose.
"CONNOR!" Banks' voice cracked with astonishment.
Simon's leadership skills kicking in, there. Gotta set an example for the men, after all. Joel looks like a landed mangrove jack.
"Damn, Connor, you pick that up in an outback bar, too?"
"Nope, from my gran." She hoisted her bottle in a challenging salute to Jim's confounded stare.
Blair cackled, rocking back and forth. "Female of the species, man. She was just playing with us."
Very nice, Sandy, but that won't get you more than half a stubby.
"So, uh, anyone wanna counter that?"
Sorry, Brown. You and Ellison may have the stones, but you ain't got the beer.
Any possible offers were interrupted by a voice from the bottom of the stairs.
"Henri, could I speak to you for a minute?"
"Sure, babe."
A taut silence reigned until their host disappeared into the kitchen with his wife, then it was broken by a murmured sing-song chant of "Meg-gan's-in-trou-ble" from Blair, Joel and Tom.
Megan downed her next sip with a look of smug defiance. Hey, if you're gonna go down, leave a flaming trail. She ignored the subdued atmosphere and resumed watching the game.
Minutes later, Henri re-emerged, looking abashed and waving back toward the room he'd just left. "Megan, uh, Ginny wants to talk to you."
"Okay." She set her nearly-empty bottle down, got up and walked the length of the viewing screen, patting her host on the arm as she passed him.
Ginny Brown stood at the open refrigerator, freezer side open as well, the door blocking Megan's view of the other woman's face. She was about to begin her apology when Ginny stepped back and motioned her closer, grinning widely. The surprised Australian complied.
"He thinks I'm laying down the law," Ginny whispered, laughter straining her voice. "They do this more than half the times they're here, and he knows I put up with it because they're his friends. Overgrown boys, y'know? They just needed someone to show 'em up, and I'm glad it was you. Better coming from someone inside the group, right?"
Megan nodded, not sure how else to respond.
"At least they'll behave themselves for tonight. I don't expect miracles from this bunch, but the burping contest gets out of hand sometimes." She removed a milk carton, a covered pie pan and a container of non-dairy topping from the refrigerator. "Pumpkin pie? Make them think I'm really chewing you out."
"Well... ah... sure. Thanks."
"I'm not keeping you from the game, am I?"
"Not really. Not my idea of excitement, anyway... more the players than the play, if you know what I mean."
Ginny snickered and got out another plate, glass and fork. "Tell me about it. Give me tight football pants over baggy ball shorts, though. Mm-mm-mm."
Megan's smile shifted to something almost wicked. "Catch a little Australian-rules football on ESPN. Shorter shorts, no padding."
Both women laughed darkly.
She rejoined the men twenty minutes into the second half, noting a few guilty looks being directed her way. "So, what's the score?" she asked as she took her seat and popped a cheese cube into her mouth.
"Ah, sixty-five to seventy-two, Hornets," Brown replied, casting a glance toward his wife on her return to their bedroom.
"Sounds like the action finally picked up, then."
"Yeah." He mouthed, "Sorry," at her, and got a wave-off and a smile for an answer. He turned to the others and shrugged, which seemed to release the tension in the room.
She waited until the next commercial and went after her second beer with a casual "Not a bad game, basketball. I guess I'm just used to a bit more action."
"It's not always like this," Blair said as he came over to refill his plate. "Jags' games are usually exciting."
"Even when there isn't a murder or a terrorist attack involved," Jim added, scooping up queso sauce for his tortilla chips.
"That's true." This from Simon, still in the living room.
Murder? She had been with the department when Kincaid and his group took over the stadium, but the other case was news to her. She made a quick mental note to look into that, then said, "I was thinking more along the lines of football."
"Ooh, yeah," Joel put in. "Pro ball, college bowl games on New Year's. Full contact sports."
"Well," she went on, enjoying the set-up, "if you wanna call that real football..."
She grinned at the defensive gleam in six pairs of eyes and thought, Bring it on, boys...
END