He left his wallet at home and made a mad dash out of the bar at mere minutes till last call, conveniently needing to get something out of his car… that was only thousands of miles away in another part of the country. He was lucky that he’d remembered to stash his emergency $50 bill in his sock, but this was the price he would pay for his

Public transportation. That’s right, bitches, PUBLIC transportation.

And while it seemed that venom was pouring from his cerulean eyes, his true hatred was reserved for the pile of bulbous growth that was drooling in his sleep, halfway leaning against the window. His snoring and the sounds of wheels crashing over cracked and beaten road outside tried to outdo each other to see who could produce the greatest noise. Still a toss-up.

No Mack.

No Ryan.

Just Frank; Frank and every interruption on the bus ride back up to 348th. Leaning back against the bus’ window, he spread across both seats. He was left exposed to all manner of horrors. Mainly, a few homeless people sparsely seated throughout the bus, living in their own filth – and quite possibly urine – trying to stay warm.

He tried to make himself comfortable. The bus ride was going to be another twenty of the longest minutes of his life, so he tried to ease the suffering by keeping his distance. Sensing something in his peripherals, he peeked, but saw nothing.

Keeping his arms folded, he tried to shut his eyes, imagining.. well, ANYWHERE else. The peace lasted somewhere in the vicinity of two-point-five nanoseconds before the jutting of the bus running over a pothole shook him away. What he saw was a pair of familiar, azure orbs staring right back his direction.

“Whatcha doing?” a girl asked him, childish coyness overcoming her.

“Uh… hallucinating, apparently,” he briskly replied, looking up out the tops of his eyes at the woman before shutting them again. “I can’t be THAT drunk.”

“Why?” She abruptly followed before taking a seat next to him.

Frank scooted back in his seat, almost feeling like she was leeching off his personality just be being there. “Because you’re not here in the dead of night, Sasha. You chose Allen, remember?”

And there it was. Her smile. That warm smile that no matter what Frank could do— no matter what SHE did -- he could never resist it.”

“Yeah, but… I still miss you.”

“Good for you. That didn’t stop you from feeling bad about us. He has the job, he’s always there for you and I can’t give you shi-…” He started to raise his voice, feeling cornered by Sasha, only to choose his words more carefully. “…You were supposed to go back to him.”

“So what you been up to? How’s the whole…” Air quotes. “’wrassling’ thing going?”

“Fine,” Frank fired back, matter-of-factly. “I make a living punching people in the face and lauding my superiority over them until they stop moving. It’s quite fun.” His attempt to scare her away clearly wasn’t working, especially as she curled up against him, a silky hand caressing his own.

“I like your hair like that. It’s nice. You should’ve let it grow out before.” The flood of comments continued on while Frank couldn’t decided between throwing her off the bus or playing along any further. She was not just his match in the game of smarminess, she was his master.

“No, Sasha, I’m not getting into this again.” The existing party notwithstanding, it was time for Frank to get real. “We get together and it’s either Allen or it’s somebody or its ‘I’m not ready’ or ‘you’re not ready’… I’m not getting back into this again.”

“Oh…” she paused, finally having a little tempo sapped from her. “Well, that’s too bad, then. Cause I know what you want. You just need to realize it, too.”

“Sorry, sugartits, we don’t have a happy ending here,” Frank shot at her, seeing his own blunt edge try and perforate her joyful exterior. “I’ve moved on. Uncle Leo left me an inheritance. I’ve got two successful jobs right now going on. I’ve got gold in one place, I’m aiming for gold in another, which means even bigger payoffs. Which means people like Allen… people like YOU don’t get to step on me anymore.”

He snapped his head… at nothing.

“Hey, what the fuck is going on back there?” Came the gravelly voice of the bus driver, turning his head back at Frank.

He looked back at the empty seat next to him, then the bus driver.

“Good question…”

==

Mack stumbled in and turned on the overhead light. He didn’t think that tonight would get to him that much, but was pleasantly surprised to see that Ryan and Frank decided to keep up with him. For too long was it him staying behind throwing down his native bluegrass bourbon as Frank would grumble off to his room angry at the world and Ryan would slip away to probably lick a toad. But tonight was EPIC in Brody’s mind.

He looked in the bathroom mirror and the crows feet cropping up. “I’ll hafta get some concealor in the morning. Can’t look too rough.” He started to brush his teeth. As much as he would love to gargle with Early Times, he knew that it would scare off all possible members of Team Macktion. Gotta keep it minty tight. He even thought about getting the ladies a t-shirt with that on it. Usually Frank groaned when he started to use that “bomb-ass” pick up line. And the dance. The dance usually cost Mack a glare from Ryan. But they just hated cause he had “Urban Rhythm in a Southern Gent’s body.”

“Woah this don’t feel right.”

The Bud Heavies hit him like a street cleaner. Mack didn’t think he drank that much. The other two were usually far behind. But now he felt almost black out, but lucid of his surroundings. Gargle. Spit. “Where’s the hat. Can’t get my hawk out of line.” He thumped back into the bedroom and tore open his luggage with a sudden zipper rip. Clothes went flying everywhere, metallic tight t-shirts and quality denim products akimbo. There it was. He pulled out a purple velour hat, shaped like a World War II solider’s cap. With it, nery a single hair would fall out of line, no moisture lost, the new style Louisville Pompadour wouldn’t front at all.

Whoom. The big man collapsed into a pile of clothes. He immediately started to drool.

==

Mack felt a fierce nudge to his ribs. He groaned and waived it off. Ryan and Frank need to go away, if he doesn’t get a quality 8 or 9, then his complexion shows it. He quickly got a stronger strike to his stomach and he screamed and sat straight up.

“WHAT THE FUCK ABOUT MACK TIME DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND!”

“MEEEP!”

This wasn’t his room. Mack was wide awake in a bright field. Each blade of grass glistened green. The sky was the color of sapphires. What was in front of him was what really threw him off. A three foot tall fuschia furry ball. Two opal-like eyes glared back at him. It had a huge mouth with jutting teeth. He immediately screamed.

The object yelled right back at him.

“WHAT IS GOING DOWN HERE! I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS! I THOUGHT THAT I JUST PARTIED TOO RIGHT LAST NIGHT!”

“You’ve been summoned here noble knight,” squeaked the creature, “This is your holy land!”

“Um… what the fuck are you talking about? And where is my hawk hat and my pants?”

Mack was confused about many things, but not about his clothes. The special protecting hat and his jeans were absent. Instead he wore a sumo wrestlers’ sash in a dulled yellow.

“Noble Knight! I am Peabody Q. Farnsworth! I’ve been sent to reward you for your great argument over the Somme! This is the dimension of your wildest dreams!”

Mack’s surprised disposition changed to one of glee. At least someone understood trench warfare of World War I. The others thought he was spouting off nonsense when he spoke of military history. It’s not his fault that James Brody had an intuitive memory of important wars of the European theater.

“Come with me sir! We have fields of riches. And women! They speak of all epic romancing you will bestow upon them. And dishes of sauerkraut-covered strawberries!”

He stood up, with a noticeable boost. This world seems lighter and happier. Peabody sprouted out as a hand hit grab Mack’s arm. The two started to skip across the fields. Mack was eager to ask this being questions. Like how much Maction would be needed on these fine women. Would him doing is personal “titty dance” be considered the royal handshake. If Peabody has traveled to Verdun and have they saw any ammunition.

This would be the happiest time of Mack’s life.

==

He closed his book and sighed. Will had one of his longer nights and started to feel his hold slip away. After the past few months and all the drama of Tokyo, he needed a night out with the boys. Will didn’t try to slip away to score or just head home, the three managed to close out the hotel bar. Mack had his usual beers, Frank worked on a fine scotch that had 12 consonants in a row as its name, Ryan stayed with vodka tonics.

And any buzz he had from the booze drifted away, Will tried to go to sleep while he was buzzed. It worked for an hour and then he was wide awake as usual. Rather than tromp down to try to find another bar or check on the other Heirs, he pulled out “The Stranger” and try to finish it. He couldn’t concentrate, so it’d end up another book uncompleted.

It was nice to be able to drift into Ryan Gallway mood. Becoming the trippy superstar was better than the hole inside him. Tokyo preyed on his psyche. He thought he had something for once. She seemed different. How cool would it have been if he found that cross over. What if Will met someone whom could deal with his personal life and understood the inane tendencies of the industry. If it could only be this easy, but it never was.

The relationship could never happen. So now Will found himself alone in another hotel room, unable to sleep.

He shuffled around his room and grabbed his tailored mapris from earlier. Fussing through the pockets he tried to find his cigarette tin, Will knew that something inside there would help out and let him ease into sleep. They would make him forget his constant struggle, his lack of love and social interaction.

Will quickly drew frustrated and then started to look on the floor and under the bed. He started off measured and grew more and more frantic. This little silver box held what he needed and knew how to get him through the night. Behind the burgundy colored chair, bingo he found it. He flicked the latch and the case opened. It was empty.

The change in events dumfounded Will. He slumped into the chair disgruntled.

He knew he bought more blotter sheets earlier, and at lease some Vicodin.

This wouldn’t be an easy night for him. He had no clue what happened to his tabs. “I couldn’t have been that drunk earlier,” he thought, “I knew I tried to save some for later.” Lately the day ran together, only broken up by times he passed out or when he scored. Instead of laying down, during out the lights and just focusing on sleep, Will stared at the tan ceiling, he flicked the case open and shut, a nervous twitch he developed when he needed to drop more.

After a few minutes, he saw his pants vibrate. He lifted them off the floor and pulled out his phone. Caller ID came up “Mack.”

“Hey, Mack.”

“THAT’S AWESOME PEABODY YOU ARE MY NEW BEST BUDDY AND MEMBER OF TEAM MACTION!”

Mack’s voice was in the distance. He pocket dialed Will. Brody sounded insane but his was clear, and not muddled like others that were insane.

“Mack?”

“THIS LAND IS THE GREATEST WORLD EVER! BETTER THAN NUTELLA LAND BACK IN BELGIUM!”

“Man, you okay?”

Mack didn’t give a sensible answer. Ryan hung up and walked across the room to the cheap desk. He picked up the phone and called the front desk. He would try to connect directly to Mack’s room to see what was up. He continued to play with the case until suddenly everything from tonight came together... Mack’s insane phone call, Will feeling hangover already, what happened to his LSD.

It came to him like a flash. He got himself drunk earlier and remembered tearing the blotter sheet into pieces and dissolved it in Frank and Mack’s drink. He thought his rationale was that the two needed to blow off steam themselves. A small smirk and chuckle left his lips.

Even though he had a particularly boring night, he knew that Frank or Mack wouldn’t be.