Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 07

"It would be, for someone else," she mused to herself before turning to face him once more, "But not for you. You'd want a contingency plan, some kind of 'backup' in case the heavy cream didn't cut it."

"Sounds like a fair assessment. What would I do then?"

Miranda smiled broadly, feeling like a student presenting their thesis and it going very well, "You wouldn't bother looking for a whole new approach to do it; you'd use what data and proven methods you already had."

"Meaning?"

"Cornstarch, it does the same thing as heavy cream does, it bonds to proteins and prevents curdling."

For a moment, the bus was quiet except for the bus.

"Well done, Doctor," Grey finally said, "You graduate at the top of your class," he raised his glass, "Cheers."

Miranda couldn't help it; she beamed with pride.

"You are now qualified to service a coffee machine to the general public."

Miranda's smile collapsed.

"Stop doing that!" Sam snapped.

"Doing what?"

"Hurting her!"

Grey merely shrugged as he took the flask from Miranda's unresisting grasp.

"One question," Sam chimed in.

"Just the one?" Grey replied semi-politely.

"And, the urge to learn how to walk, solely so I can have the pleasure of kicking your ass from here back to London continues to grow."

"It warms the cockles of my heart to know that I have inspired such personal growth."

"Since when do you have a heart?"

"I believe you had a question?"

Sam sighed, Fine, be that way, "Yes," she said aloud, "how come we couldn't drink more of that stuff, it tastes good."

"Oh it's very good," Grey agreed, "But the problem with a cream base, even one that has been fortified against curdling, will eventually go sour if brought into contact with the right chemical...such as stomach acid."

Sam's eyes went wide and, just then, a very angry sound came from her abdomen promising hellish torment at the next opportunity.

"I see you know what I mean," he continued, "On a good day, your stomach produces a pretty impressive amount of very potent acid," he leaned forward, "After all that spicy rice you ate; your stomach is not having a good day."

"Fan-fucking-tastic," was all she said she began to hold her stomach.

"You lied," Miranda whispered.

Grey lifted his eyes to meet hers, "Beg pardon?"

Slowly, Miranda's face became one of quiet triumph, "You lied. The spice mix—"

"I'm thinking of naming it 'Sucker Punch'," Grey interjected.

"Because of the movie?" Sam asked warily.

"No, because it sneaks up on you and puts its boot up your arse," he frowned, "And what movie?" he shook his head, "Never mind, your girlfriend was busy calling me a liar." He held up a warning finger to Miranda, "Make it good."

"You said one of the ingredients was Red Chili Paste. I can only assume that you make your own and don't get it retail."

Grey's expression twisted distastefully, "I find that the slop they sell at the local green grocer's has no rightful claim to be called 'Red Chili Paste.'"

"Yeah, well, I know for a fact that at least three of the most commonly used chilies required to make the stuff has to be kept fresh and used very quickly or else they lose their heat."

"And?" Grey asked politely.

Miranda moved in for the kill, "So when I lived in Japan, my mother grew them," she bared her teeth in a manner not unlike the Englishman's, "The growing season for these spices ended about a month ago."

"Your conclusion then, Doctor Inoue?"

"You made this recently, very recently," she narrowed her eyes in suspicion, "Well?"

A pause.

"I made it a few hours ago after I got word that you two might be looking for me," he confessed.

"She shoots, she scores!" Sam cried out and hugged Miranda's waist, they were both reveling in their triumph...

...right up until they saw the scarred smirk on Grey's face.

"What?" Sam demanded.

"Nothing," Grey replied, "I'm just very proud of you, you did well," he tilted his head in a small bow, "Kudos."

"No no no no, fuck you," Sam stabbed a finger at him; "You do not get to do that!"

"Do...?"

"Don't play stupid with me!"

"Are you certain I'm playing?"

Miranda managed to laugh out of her nose, creating a most indelicate snorting sound. Sam huffed and continued.

"Don't pretend that this was all some test to see if Miri could catch you in a lie!" she demanded, "You screwed up! Admit it!"

"Very well," he spread his arms magnanimously and smiled broadly showing two rows of perfect teeth, "I screwed up and I admit it. You've got me dead to rights, birdy. I salute your intellectual prowess. I am undone."

Both girls peered intently at him, as he became the very picture of innocence.

"I can't tell if he's lying," Miranda murmured.

"Me either," Sam growled, "Shit!"

Grey chuckled quietly, "There is a reason why I prefer to play games like Chess or Poker and not, say, Checkers."

"Yeah, yeah, fuck you too," the blonde girl folded her arms underneath her full breasts, "Your first name wouldn't be 'Christian' would it?"

"No!"

Both girls jerked at the intensity in Grey's reaction. A ripple of anger flickered across his face.

An epiphany struck; Miranda realized how she could read Grey's expressions; they were quick changes, like rocks being tossed into a still pool, or in his case, a sardonic and arrogant demeanor, but the ripples ran deep and spread wide. If she could follow those ripples in his calm, she could finally get a handle on her mercurial...

...whatever the hell he is to me.

"Okay then," Sam cleared her throat, "Sore spot?"

"Very. That word and I have a particularly troubled history."

"I see," she replied though she honestly had no idea, "So, 'Fifty Shades of Fucked-Up and Evil,' got it."

Grey shook his head in amusement, "You come to my table, eat my food, drink my wine," he shook his head, "the three of us; people will say we're in love."

"You wish," Sam growled.

"A wish is a dream your heart holds," he smirk slightly, "Or is it the other way around? At any rate, it doesn't apply to me; I don't dream," his smug expression flickered into something else, Miranda saw it.

Regret.

"Not anymore." Grey handed his glass to the girl for inspection; she peered at it, it was difficult to make out in the light (or lack thereof) it was possessing of a golden color and had a strange, almost viscous-like quality to it. Sam sniffed at it, wrinkling her nose in puzzlement.

"Well?" Miranda asked.

"I don't have clue one," was Sam's response.

Grey opened his mouth to speak, but he was quickly silenced by a glare from both girls. Instead, he made do with another smirk, the scar on his mouth giving it a decidedly crooked look.

"Here goes," Sam breathed and she took a large sip from the glass. She set it down and swished the liquid around in her mouth a little before swallowing it with frown of puzzlement, peering at the remaining contents of the glass.

"Well?" Miranda repeated.

"Well it's...," Sam struggled for the word, "...more palatable than the bathtub gin was from the other day."

"So is battery acid, if I remember your words correctly," Grey interjected smoothly.

Sam took another sip from the glass and swished it around in her mouth again, swallowing more quickly and with less of a frown.

"It's...interesting. It has kind of a cough syrup texture to it," Sam smiled as she saw Miranda wrinkle her nose in disgust, "But it doesn't have the taste, don't worry hon."

"Who's worried?" Miranda asked.

"You are," both Grey and Sam replied. The pair looked at each other, Sam in astonishment, Grey in quiet amusement as the girls continued to puzzle over the drink.

Sam finished the drink and peered at the empty glass as she continued to run her tongue along the insides of her mouth and across her teeth, attempting to investigate every last molecule of the drink in the hopes of discerning its identity. "Tastes like Irish Mist," she commented.

"Refill?" Grey asked.

"Yeah, please."

Grey took the glass from her and removing a second flask from his jacket, poured its contents into the glass and swiftly putting the flask containing the sweet concoction away to avoid a potentially painful mix up.

Sam frowned; she'd hoped that Grey would be forced to reveal exactly what it was he was having them drink when it came time to refill. Apparently, the Englishman had already thought of that.

"Thanks," Sam grunted.

Grey nodded in a gesture that was almost hospitable, "Anytime, babes."

Sam grinned, "'Babes', I could handle that. 'Hey gimp!' was getting old."

"'Babes' it is then," Grey toasted with his flask.

"How many of those things do you have?" Miranda asked incredulously.

"I'm an Englishman and a proper lush to boot, how many do you think?"

"Too many."

There was a moment then, between Miranda and Grey, (Sam was busy enjoying her drink), just one bit of concern; a small gesture of care and Miranda was delighted that, for a moment, a smile; not a leer or a grin, but a very small, slight smile on the unscarred portion of his mouth appeared.

"Whoo!" Sam called out, "Potent shit that is."

Grey's smile fled as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Miranda floundering in the moment, "Give up?" he asked.

Sam leveled a somewhat shaky finger at the man, "You're like a little kid; I swear. 'I know something you don't know! I know something you don't know!' Bah!" She then proceeded to blow a raspberry at him with a little more honey-scented drool that she had probably intended.

Casually wiping away the spittle from his coat, "I'll give you a hint: It is one of the oldest beverages known to man, dating back to two-thousand BC."

"Mead!" Miranda burst out.

"Correct," He took a pull from the flask and offered to Miranda, who shook her head,

"No thanks," she replied, "All this 'eat me, drink me,' craziness has me worried I'll end up either getting smashed or turned into Gojira."

Grey laughed, catching both the girls by surprise, "Excellent pop culture references. I have two words for you."

"Go."

"Roland Emmerich," he counted off his fingers.

"Gaijin hack," she replied without hesitation, "Stupid white man who had no right to be within five hundred miles of the Gojira."

Grey nodded approvingly, "I'll drink to that," taking a pull and offering it to Miranda.

"What the hell," she took the flask, "To Roland Emmerich; should he ever encounter Gojira again, may he be smooshed with a great and terrible vengeance."

"Hear hear."

"Explain!" Sam cried out.

"He took one of the most iconic characters in cinema history and turned him into an overgrown menstruating lizard with a fish-fetish," Grey answered.

"Huh?!""

Miranda opened her mouth then stopped and looked at Grey, who simply smiled and gestured her to go ahead.

"Gojira is what you Westerners know as 'Godzilla'. Growing up I was really into those movies, they were fun."

Sam imagined her lover cheering on a three-hundred foot giant radioactive reptile demolishing Tokyo and couldn't help but laugh.

"The old Toho movies? Monster matinee on a Sunday mornings? MST34? Those movies?"

"Yes, like I said a big fan. In fact, my dad and I went to Hibya, Tokyo for the annual film festival every year."

"So did I," Grey interjected smoothly.

Miranda whipped her head around, agog, "You were there? In Tokyo?"

"Several times, I probably saw you and your da there," he pointed at her face, "Close your gob, dearie, you're attracting flies."

"I...don't know how to process that," Miranda admitted, "Why did you go?"

"Why did you?"

Miranda bit on her lower lip as she thought, "They were big and powerful, I wasn't."

Grey nodded, "From what I know of your upbringing, I can understand that."

"And you?"

He shrugged, "Call it an appetite for destruction."

"I'll buy that," Sam added as she regarded her glass, "So tell me about this drink," she asked, determined to get the conversation back to topics she was more familiar with.

"I had a contact from Reykjavik send it to me; I acquired a taste for it during my time up north. I drink it when I'm feeling nostalgic."

"Your 'contact'? That's a little cold. How about 'friend' or something like that?

Grey's tone softened even as his the lines in his brow creased in a scowl.

"I have neither the time nor the interest in having 'friends' or 'something like them'. They tend to become liabilities very quickly, making them a luxury that I neither want nor need."

Miranda shivered; it wasn't just his tone, the words pierced her; it spoke of a desolate existence.

"God..." she whispered.

"Excuse me, but could one of you geniuses take a moment to tell me what it is I've been drinking?" Sam interjected.

"Fermented honey, it's considered the 'drink of the Gods'. Real popular with the Northmen," her lover explained.

"You mean Vikings?"

"Vikings, Geats—"

"Very nice, Ms. Inoue," Grey interjected smoothly, "The Geats are not common knowledge in these parts,"

"They are if anyone's read 'Beowulf'," Miranda replied evenly before turning to address her lover, who looked very lost, "Beowulf, it's said, was a Geat, or at least had ties to them."

"The guy who killed Grendel and banged Angelina Jolie?"

Miranda sighed a little and pinched the skin at the bridge of her nose as Grey continued to look amused, "I must have missed that translation," he commented dryly.

"It's a movie, Grey; they made a CGI movie about it."

"I see: two questions."

"Yes?"

"What is 'CGI' and who is 'Angelina Jolie'?"

Slowly, both girls fixed their collective gaze upon him. Sam looked horrified.

"Okay, I am not nearly hammered enough for it to be okay that you don't know who Angelina Jolie is."

"What is this bird, a luvvy then?"

"A what?"

"An actress Sam, 'luvvy' is a term for actor or actress that originates from British theater," Miranda shrugged as Grey gave her an appraising look, "I've been researching."

"Clearly," was Grey's only response.

Sam silently mouthed 'Wow!' before giving Grey the now-empty glass, "So, where did you learn to mix drinks?" she asked, smiling coyly, "A few mixology classes at night school while watching 'Cocktail'? Maybe getting your groove on down in Florida during Spring Break?" she held her arms above her head and did a little dance. "Maybe a little 'Girls Gone Wild' action?" She burst out laughing at the idea, Miranda joining her in short order.

"Teaching alchemy to a cult of necrophiliacs in the Parisian catacombs in 2000. This was back when I was the owner of an underground Absinthe lounge."

The laughing ceased.

"Wait—what now?" Miranda asked looking very puzzled.

"What term was unclear?"

"Start with 'alchemy' and work your way onwards."

He shook his head, "I can't luv; it's a long story and we still have much to discuss."

"Okay, but before we do that, I need to know one thing," Sam interjected.

"Ask."

"Have you ever fucked a corpse?"

Grey laughed a little at that, "Figuratively or literally?"

"You know what the hell I mean."

"I do, and no, I did not. Nor did I witness anyone do so; despite popular belief a 'necrophiliac' is defined as 'one who is obsessed with death," he took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled thoughtfully, "Hell, that sums up about three-quarters of the Goth subculture in London back in the eighties," he shrugged, "The actual corpse-fucking is optional."

"Well, glad to see you have some boundaries," Sam mumbled.

"Now, if I thought that some of those maniacs actually would have gone for it, I'd have stocked up on cadavers and started charging by the hour."

"Please tell me you're joking," Miranda pleaded, looking a little nauseated.

"I am," he assured her, "Besides, body snatching isn't nearly as glamorous as the old novels make it sound," his lip curved into a savage expression of revulsion and amusement, "That and they stink bloody awful when they start to putrefy."

"Well, just in the case the food and drink wasn't enough to make me want to hurl...," Sam commented sourly.

"Since when do you have a private bus?" Miranda asked him, desperate to change the subject.

"Aces, isn't it," he took a sip from his glass, "the simple pleasures in life truly are the most satisfying, "For those evenings that I need to get something done when I'm entirely too bloody knackered to leg it," he gestured to the empty bus. "A nice private coach, minus a herd of tossers that would otherwise make this most uncomfortable," he gestured to the front, "And my mate, Virgil, makes sure I get there in style."

He tossed away his cigarette and lit a fresh one, "Now then, one of my little birds has told me that you two have managed to get yourself into a situation that has gone full-on fucking bone."

The girls exchanged looks and shared the same thought.

How does he know?

"That's certainly one way to put it," Miranda acquiesced, "Do you know the details?"

Grey shrugged, "Only that mommy and daddy took exception to me neutering their offspring."

Sam coughed as she started to laugh. Miranda reached out a hand to grip hers.

"Sweetie...," she gently admonished.

"Sorry," Sam wiped at her eyes with her free hand, "Sorry, not funny. Serious, got it."

Miranda gave her an encouraging smile before turning to face Grey.

"That's putting it mildly. They are demanding that we be fired and denied tenure—"

"Say that again!"

The bus driver slammed on the brakes causing the brakes to screech like a bat erupting from the bowels of Hell itself. That failed to drown out Grey's scream.

The sound was unlike anything anyone present had ever seen before: it rolled on and on like thunder, smashing against the metal constraints of the bus like a rabid animal slamming itself against a cage in an attempt to burst free and wreak havoc upon the unsuspecting world.

The girls covered their ears and grimaced in pain; the sheer fury of it threatened to boil the blood in their veins. Miranda looked up to face Grey and nearly stroked out.

The man had...transformed.

He'd torn his glasses free from his face and his eyes now bulged out of their sockets as if they wished to tear free from the confines of his skull. The green in his eyes took on a reptilian cast: a pale green African viper and an emerald wyrm. Monsters both; hungry and hateful.

Dear God, I've woken the dragon.

The veins in Grey's face and neck bulged outwards forming a latticework that was desperately trying to keep the blood in his veins from erupting at the intensity of his anger.

The girls had finally seen Mister Grey's self-control fracture.

Miranda felt sick as she saw his face dissolve into a twitching pudding of a thousand emotions: rage, disbelief, horror, fear, dread, madness and beneath it all, she saw something else. His expression was splintering and something not entirely sane nor entirely human was fighting to get out from behind the mask of flesh that was Grey's violently convulsing face.

"What the hell is going on back there?!" the bus driver shouted. No one was in any state to answer silenced as they were in horror and revulsion at Grey's sudden loss of control.

And then, it was over.

Grey nearly fell out of his seat with his head slumped into his hands. He was making a low, moaning noise; a wounded sound that would have evoked concern from those present had they currently not been terrified out of their minds.

"What. The. Fuck?" Sam whispered.

Miranda just shook her head and reached out to the trembling man.

"Are you crazy?" The blonde girl hissed.

Miranda ignored her and, with the greatest of care, placed her hand gently on his shaking back. Ready for anything...

...only to receive nothing at all.

She could feel muscle spasms rippling up and down his back underneath his coat, micro-convulsions racking his thin frame that made her wince in sympathetic pain.