The Eighth Plague: A Narrative of Sex, Drugs, and Rock 'n' Roll

Chapter 2: The Ruritanians Arrive

The first of the Ruritanians to arrive were two sisters named Martie and Margie. Martie was a loud woman of tremendous presence. She wore a black turtleneck, jackboots, and jodhpurs. On her head, she had a pink, curly wig in addition to a visor and sunglasses that were both see-through green. Margie was more reserved. She was shaved bald and wore blue overalls and loafers.

Next to arrive were two hazmat suits (one black, one white) which were presumably occupied by two of the Ruritanians, however the suits' built-in microphones rendered their speech crackly and unintelligible, but their name tags seemed to indicate that the people inside the suits were both named "Beckman."

Nobody caught the names of the next five; who, while belonging to the Ruritanian Space Program, were not Ruritanians. One was Samoan, one was Chinese, one was Swedish, one was an Arab, and one claimed to be a citizen of the American Confederacy. (Spade, being in the know, knew this was perfectly plausible, but said nothing while Major Collins laughed.)

Last to arrive of the Ruritanians was a muscled, mustached man in an Off-White argyle Hussar's uniform named Bastable Bumppo. (This was the man's name, not the uniform's). The other Ruritanians seemed to regard him, to varying unfathomable degrees, as some kind of leader or mascot.

They would also be joined by three of Spade's neighbors, who showed up uninvited and refused to leave. Their names were Colonel Houdin Van Bach, a elderly albino and citizen of Argentina who would deny having ever even heard of a place called Germany; Doris Daker, the cleaning woman for the building, and a proud Irish-Israeli; and her son Barry "Shaky" Daker-Mukharji-Parker-Almond-Little-Richard-Tennyson, a multiple divorcee and heroin addict who'd been left mute and epileptic with hideous burns after being struck by lightning on an unprecedented total of forty-eight separate occasions.

After all had arrived, and introductions had been made, and all had sat down, and a hearty meal of canned peaches, yak protein, and dehydrated yoghurt had been thoroughly devoured by all present; Bastable Bumppo, the Ruritanian Hussar, stood up from his chair.

"Friends, Ruritanians, strangers... I speak to you not as a Hussar of the Space Program, but as a man. A man, who like all of you, is trying to make sense of these trying times we find ourselves in. And like all of you, I cannot."

Bumppo then used his chair to step onto the table itself, in the grip of a bout of impassioned speech-making. Spade winced slightly as the Hussar's boots left a mark on the surface of the table.

"I cannot make sense of any of this. The virus, the economic collapse, the fighting... So I say this: If we are unable to make sense of these dark times, let us embark on this noble undertaking, that we might become examples to the common man!"

Bastable Bumppo said this with such conviction and strength, that everyone present could not help but whoop and holler with joy and admiration. Even Colonel Van Bach, Doris, and her son, the three of whom had no clue what this undertaking was, were madly pumping their fists in the air, as the normally apathetic Spade Newhouse joined Martie, the Samoan, and the two "Beckmans" in a round of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow." While none of the words sung by the "Beckmans" were recognizable through all the crackling, and the Samoan insisted on singing in his native tongue, one could still make out the basic rhythm.

Major Collins excused himself briefly, offering very sincere and humble apologies, to head to the parking lot as he'd forgotten something very important in his car. He returned, the atmosphere still in full swing, with a six-pack of beer in each arm and the handle of a purple briefcase firmly clenched between his teeth.

Excited as everyone was by the sight of the beers, they were all the more enraptured by the contents of the briefcase. There was cocaine, grass, several zip-loc bags of paste, and enough cough syrup, hard candy, and soda to make at least several pitchers of "lean."

"Go grab that stuff from the ramen, Newhouse!" The Major yelled. "This is gonna be some mighty fine goddamn lean!"

Spade ran to the pantry and grabbed the synthemesc packets from the ramen. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this alive. Perhaps it had only just set in that the world was ending.

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The partying continued well into the night, and soon enough people began to partner up.

The "Beckmans" claimed Spade's laundry room, leading everyone to desperately hope theirs was a spousal or coincidental shared name.

Blushing, Doris Daker took Hussar, Colonel, and Major into the one bedroom of the apartment, unbothered by the fact that in the closet of that same room the Samoan was plunging fast and wild into a squeeling Swede and a relatively passive Arab.

Barry "Shaky" Daker-Mukharji-Parker-Almond-Little-Richard-Tennyson watched, as right on the kitchen table, the Confederate was joyously sundered by the Chinaman. Barry got little out of this besides a good "chuckle" (meaning to laugh), as his experiences with lightning had left him unable to appreciate it on any other level.

Spade was left with the two sisters, Martie and Margie. Spade had had his eye on Martie the whole evening. There was something intriguing about her. Maybe it was her wig, maybe it was the fact that she was visibly not wearing a bra underneath that black turtleneck, and maybe it was the fact that she had been letting out soft little moaning sounds since she had gotten there (which, had Spade asked, he would have found were because of joint pain).

Martie took a chair from the kitchen table, not a little aroused by the unfolding anti-allegory, and dragged it into the living room. Spade and Margie followed.

Margie immediately disrobed, undoing the belt that held her overalls to her small but curvy frame. Her clothes fell around her feet, so that when she tried to take a step forward she ended up falling, with her round, pink ass straight pointing up in the air. After catching her, and giving her ass a good slap, Spade took off everything but the shirt of the Punchinello suit. He still had his dignity, after all.

Martie pulled off the turtleneck, letting her large and supple breasts bounce out with relative grace. Gazing upon them, Spade noticed an unnatural symmetry and a distinct lack of areola. This disturbed him, but only momentarily, so that when Margie pushed him into the armchair and began to ride him (with her back to him, no less!) while Martie simply looked on playing with herself, he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.

Spade sighed. Life is hard.