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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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"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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