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Tony Napolitano is too cool for the room.

Fortified by a pint of his special Purple Haze ice cream, dressed in his teddy-boy finest (complete with dark sunglasses), and with a cigarette held in his mouth, he is slouched nearly horizontally on the couch by the fire, playing his beloved 1961 Höfner 500/1 electric bass (covered in a pin-up style painting of a certain redhead, holding a tommy-gun and surrounded by the words THIS MACHINE KILLS HEROES).

He's playing one of his favorite songs, apparently an extended version of it, only singing intermittently. He's actually got talent... which is a comfort of sorts, since it doesn't look like he's going to stop anytime soon.

Botherable. He can talk while playing... then again, he can also turn it up.

[open until it scrolls!]

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There's a doctor sitting nearby, longing for his guitar right about now. He knows the music, of course, and is enjoying it.

The player's pretty intriguing himself. He is openly staring. "Don't tell me, some very ironic use of irradiated ice cream?"

"How'd you guess?" Tony asks, in an unsurprised sort of tone.

Well, the stripes are distinctive.

"I'm a doctor," he says, in the same sort of tone. "You can play."

He notes the bass. "That's the woman from the Henchbabes Monthly. Edie Something."

"I'm no professional, but I love playing."

And he's been doing it for over forty years, so...

"Napolitano. You a subscriber? Great publication."

"Nope, but I'm planning on becoming one, after the looks of that edition. One of my fellows, Thirteen, says she's a friend of hers."

"Ah... you know Thirteen? She's quite a girl. Up to something, I got a feeling, but you know how it is. You should subscribe--they've got some pretty wild gifts they send with subscriptions."

They almost banned it from one of the prisons he'd been in, because of the free gifts.

"I'm Thirteen's boss," he says, "She is up to something...lots of things, and I'm trying to figure out what."

He pauses and mulls over this idea of a subscription.

"I like this. I like this idea a lot."

"Well, I can tell you that at least part of the time what she's up to is hanging out with me and my girl, and my godson and his parents. Real innocent-like."

He takes a slow and contented drag on his cigarette.

"I get my subscription delivered here, these days. Mostly been living here instead of at home, and I don't want to miss out on the Year of Spandexwoman."

"One of those other women wouldn't happen to be a really annoying baker with red hair, or a little woman with dark hair and is probably in need of another sandwich?"

He's got two women in mind, and wants to know if he's referring to either that House thinks he may be.

"How much is it a year?"

"My girl's a redhead, but she's not annoying," he says, giving the picture on the bass a brief, affectionate pat. "Tiny little brunette with a taste for dark eyeliner and really hairy guys? That'd be my godson's mother. Sweet girl."

There's a lot more he could've said about her, but he's in a mellow mood today.

"Forty-five bucks, and worth every penny."

He looks impressed. Very impressed. "So Edie's your wife. Nice."

Now the other description brings a devious smile. "So, it's not how Thirteen made it out to be the other night then. The lesyay thing between them's a put-on."

That tricky girl.

He looks back at the picture. "Looks like it," he says. "I'll have to put myself down for a subscription."

"Thirteen's got a girl anyway, or did last I checked," he says. "Dressing up like pirates and carrying each other off. Lesbians are weird."

Almost as weird as supervillains.

"You should see if you can order the Spandexwoman retrospective special-issue. It's a thing of beauty. I bought ten copies."

Kinky Thirteen is going to get made fun of at work.

"Pirate Thirteen. Now, there's a...vaguely wrong visual."

He's still trying to figure out just who the woman is.

"You wouldn't, by any chance, know her girlfriend's name, would you?"

Lesbian supervillains are the weirdest.

"Ten? Must be really great, since you've got her too..."

"She's a damn hot pirate, let me tell you. And not the bad kind either... or the cheesy kind."

He could elaborate, but prefers to let it stand right there.

"Not a clue. Wouldn't mind if it were my girl she's involved with, but she's not. That I know of. Never know what women are doing behind closed doors if you don't have cameras, right?"

It's a strawberry day.

"Edie's worth it. I'd have bought more, but they had a strict ten-copy-per-caller limit. And, well, I do have the original."

The machine that kills heroes may take up residence at the end of the couch, wearing leather that looks to be next to painted on.

"Hello, baby."

"Mmmm."

She gets a smile as he settles into an instrumental bit. "You should get your tambourine, baby. We can do a duet."

"I like listenin' to you play better," she says. "You look good, honey. How are you today?"

"I like playing for you," he says. "Doing great--feeling great. How about you? Having a good day, baby?"

She nods, curling up at the end of the couch. "I like that pin up," she answers. "I love that you have it on there."

"I loved when you posed for it," he grins. "We should do that more often--hey, I think Air Force One could use some nose art. Think if I came up with a design they'd get the military to put it on there for me, or am I gonna need some scaffolding and a really big brush?"

"Well, baby, you are the commander-in-chief. I'm pretty sure that can't really say 'no'. Though we may end up having to pay for it. I don't mind that."

She leans against him.

"I'll pose for any and all things you wanna do, honey. You know that. You know I'll even sit real still for you too."

"I think I've got enough money to pay for it," he says. "What do you think, you barely-dressed in an American flag and one of those three-cornered hats? Revolution-themed. Maybe give you a musket or something..."

Oh, that earns him a beaming wife, who kisses his knee. It's the nearest part of him.

"I love that idea! It screams sexy, patriotic, and dangerous. I think I fall into those categories most days."

"The plane's gonna need a new name, then," he says. "You know, like they used to have--'Lady Luck,' 'Girl Next Door,' whatever. A little bit dirty, a little bit of a pun, something classic."

"I'm sure you'll come up with something perfect. You always were better at that sort of thing than I am."

Mostly because he thinks on it, and she doesn't bother because she knows he's got it covered. Much like dinner.

Or it could be the drugs and the crazy. Hey, he'll take inspiration any way he can get it.

"Red-blooded American--no, that'd be something out of a slasher movie. Not that you wouldn't look hot all chainsaw-wielding, but it's not quite the style..."

"Chainsaw, now, I haven't ever done it that way before..."

Either she's talking murder, or she's even kinkier than anyone ever gave her credit for. Her narration is nearly praying for the first.

"How about...hmm...Ringing Liberty's Bell?"

"I did, once. And I can say without any doubt that you'd do it hotter than I did."

His narration isn't going to clarify either.

Oh, and that right there... it's lucky she didn't suggest it to Squirrel, but even so she gets treated to a chorus. Obligatory singing is exactly what it says on the tin.

"You're giving me ideas, baby. Don't you get an official portrait as First Lady?"

She gives him a nip to his lip. "You dirty, dirty boy..."

Probably for the best the peons stay out of this higher order mess. Or something.

Geez. Not more disco.

"I think so. You'll haveta dress me..."

Hey, not all disco is bad. Then again, Tony might have gotten a few of Squirrel's brain cells in that electrical accident a few special issues ago...

"I think you need to give me a bath first, if I'm so dirty. A nice long bath, and then we'll see about an outfit for your portrait."

That...would definitely explain a lot. Sadly enough.

"Luckily for you, pet, I think I can oblige that request."

Really best not to ask about what happened in that special issue. At least Squirrel's fur has grown back, and Tony has a newfound affection for maple syrup.

"Lucky for me, yeah."

And the singing part comes round again. He does love to sing, even more so when it's for her.

...awkward.

And she loves listening. He's so...perfect for her in all sorts of ways. She curls up a little, smiling, and listening to her husband, and the best man she knows.

And she's the best woman he knows.

Well, his mother is a close second, but that's very different. And he's certainly not thinking about his mother right now.

Just a pleasant domestic moment with his wife.

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