I pulled up to Seymour's house, Anthony in tow, armed with two large bags.
They contained everything needed for lobster-assisted planning. However, the pièce de résistance was a Duchess of Hamilton model train, OO scale, in mint condition.
I surveyed my surroundings. The house was a surprisingly neat single-story affair, complete with a white picket fence and a small swimming pool in the front yard.
I walked up to the pool and was immediately transported to the seaside; the air was thick with the fragrant smell of salt water. In hindsight, what else did I expect?
The front entrance was stately, with two pillars to either side of a large oak door. I rang the bell, prompting an immediate flurry of movement from inside. Had he been waiting for me? I glanced at Anthony.
The door flew open with alarming speed. "Hey, Keith!" Seymour beamed.
Anthony immediately bolted past him, trying—and succeeding—to climb up his carapace.
"Uhhh… I'm sorry about that, Seymour."
But he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring fixedly at Anthony, foam billowing from his mouth in a torrent I had never seen, not even during my mandatory affirmations.
"A-a-a…" Seymour tried to speak.
"I think he likes you, Seymour."
He slowly turned to me, his eyes wide with delight. He gently picked Anthony up in one behemoth claw and placed him squarely atop his head. Anthony settled in.
"Are you going to let me in?" I asked politely.
I watched the words slowly register. I might leave the trains for later if we were going to get any work done.
"Let me give you the tour." Seymour scuttled excitedly from room to room. "This is the lounge."
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He led me into a comfortable room with surprisingly tasteful décor. The couches looked soft enough to sink into, and the shelves were littered with books. I skimmed the spines—there was a mix of fantasy and action.
I knew three of the major titles.
Seymour noticed my glance and shifted uncertainly. "Death, interstellar hitchhiking, and ascending to godhood," he said. "Covers all the essentials. You’d be surprised how often they overlap."
I wasn’t sure if he was joking. He gestured to a nearby side table. On it sat a notebook, swollen with sticky notes, labeled in careful block capitals:
Comparative Theorems In: Madra, Vogons, and Deadly Rodents: An Aquatic Take —
Advancement is paramount. Demolition is a deadline. SQUEAK.
He was not joking. I would need to re-evaluate my entire assessment of Seymour. Upwards. Dramatically upwards.
Before I uncovered my nefarious plan for industrial warfare, I needed to test his understanding of re-alignment.
"Seymour, how about a cup of tea?" I asked.
"Kelp okay?" His eyes wiggled ominously. "Just kidding. You want cream?" Apparently, home-Seymour was both smarter and funnier than office-Seymour.
"Seymour, do you understand what re-alignment is?" I asked, swirling my tea and watching the cream form intricate patterns in the darker brew.
His usually joyous tone dropped. "Yeah, Keith. I know about the scrub. Everyone does, thanks to Bethany. I have no idea how she hasn't been caught yet, but the world owes her a debt. Not that it'll matter to me tomorrow."
"You are not being scrubbed, Seymour." I sat on the floor, ensuring a large space for us to work. "Come sit here."
Seymour joined me. I slowly emptied the contents of both bags between us. "I have a plan."
He wasn’t looking at the various pens, pencils, and crayons I had laid out. His eyes were fixed on the train. I watched for the tell-tale signs of foam, but they weren’t there. To my horror, he was crying.
I needed to act quickly. I grabbed my still-warm tea and threw it at him. The cup hit his carapace, cracking and spilling tea over him and the floor. Both he and Anthony, who had been sleeping on his head, looked at me in disbelief.
"Keith, why did you break my cup?"
I looked him dead in the eye-stalks. "I don’t know how to deal with crying. I hoped it was like the hiccups."
I picked up the Duchess of Hamilton and handed it to him. We both started to laugh.
I waited for a moment, then asked, "Now, are you ready to fight the re-alignment?"
He carefully removed Anthony from his head and squared up. "Let’s get them, Keith." His voice sounded stronger. Much stronger.
"That’s the way. Now, grab your crayons. You don’t mind if a friend joins us, do you?"
A little foam started to form at his mouth again.
"Her name is Florence," I continued. "She can be a little rough around the edges, but don’t take anything she says to heart, okay?"
He nodded, still wiping his eyes. Anthony had somehow reappeared on his head. I took out my phone and messaged Florence. The game was on.
"So, Seymour," I said, settling back. "How about that other cup of tea?"
What is your favourite kind of tea?
