“Sheesh,” gasps a bedraggled Hannibal Heyes as he drags himself into the hotel room. “That was... That was…” The supposedly silver-tongued one searches in vain for the mot juste. “Sheesh,” he compromises.
Kid Curry, equally dishevelled and, if anything, even more exhausted trails after his partner. “Sheesh,” he agrees. Being, famously, more a man for action than words, he does not follow Heyes’ example in seeking further mots, juste or not.
A mute conversation.
Then, with a sigh – or to be mathematically accurate two sighs – the mute button is turned off.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that much hot chocolate fudge sauce in one place before,” muses Heyes.
“It ain’t in one place now,” grouses Kid. “It’s dang well every where!” He captures a dribble snaking warmly down his washboard stomach, currently revealed by a strategically ripped shirt…
Oh? Did I not mention that the clothes of both boys are hanging in shreds, scarcely concealing their… Well, scarcely concealing much at all.
I guess I thought you were above being interested in that kind of thing.
Anyhow, back to Kid Curry scooping up sweet droplets and licking his sticky hands.
“I have crumbs in places I didn’t even know I had places,” confides Heyes.
“Me too. As for you an’ the raspberry jam…”
“What about what SHE did to you with that cream finger…”
“Hey!” interrupts Kid Curry, actually blushing. “That was just dang rude!”
Silent mulling. Well, as silent as mulling can be when two ex-outlaws are still cleaning themselves of a variety of confectionary products partially by the oral ingestion method.
“Four birthdays in a single week,” Heyes shakes his head. “It’s sure nice to help the gals celebrate but…”
“Leapin’ outta four cakes in a row sure leaves a fella mussed up,” nods Curry.
“Spending time with any one of them four - let alone the full quartet - would leave a fella mussed up even without cake!”
A shrug of agreement from the blond.
“Mind you,” continues Heyes, eyeing two cedar wood tubs already full of steaming water, frothing foam and promiscuous promise, “they did promise to clean us up.”
A stampede of feminine footsteps approach, shortly followed by four flushed birthday gals clutching soap, loofahs, sponges and long-handled back scrubbers.
Everything is better with cake!