Thirteen ┃ Five Hargreeves ┃2┃

XVI - Bonny And Clyde

The Lonely Lodger Inn, Oshkosh, Wisconsin, 1982.

"Ugh, I think those briefcases are worse for my stomach than your blinking is." Number Eight groaned, grasping her nauseated stomach as she stumbled beside Number Five.

"Well, that's because you've just travelled 19 years, as opposed to travelling to the other side of the room." Number Five remarked with a snide tone. He was always a know-it-all.

Number Eight rolled her eyes. "Tell me about it. You should've seen how sick I was when I got stuck in Dallas in 63'. Fifty-six years definitely wasn't good for my stomach."

As the pair approached the building, they couldn't help but notice that everyone was wearing quite bizarre outfits. Number Eight was passed by a gentleman wearing red and green, puffed trousers and a borderline transparent blouse. His torso was clad in a tight-fitting vest and his feet were wrapped in shoes with upturned toes.

"Five. I know the eighties were...well, an interesting, time for fashion choices, but what in the hell are these people wearing?" She exclaimed as the pair entered the foyer of the building, where things only got worse.

The building was rustic, and had a cosy atmosphere about it. Exposed bricks built the walls up to be homely, and the roof contained exposed beam work and low hanging lights. Excitable chatter filled the room, only confusing the Hargreeves' even more. Number Eight noticed a perfectly positioned sign by the front door which explained the strange atmosphere.

"Welcome to the Wisconsin Polka Association. Really? This is where the board of directors decided to set up camp? Jeez, Five, your former employers really were cuckoo." Number Eight scoffed, her eyes widening as more outrageous outfits entered the building. "Holy Moses..."

"Excuse me." Number Five approached a blonde, curly-haired lady by the front door.

The woman practically jumped out of her skin after hearing Number Five speak. "Uff da. You snuck up on me there. If you're looking for the cookies, we don't put 'em out till 3:30." She replied, looking up and down their teenage physiques.

"Oo, I can hardly wait Fivey." Number Eight smiled sweetly, though her tone was full of sarcasm.

Number Five smiled at his company before turning his attention back to the lady, trying his best to disguise his ever-growing psychotic tendencies. A polka association gathering truly was enough to send him deranged. "Uh, do you happen to know where the Midwest Soybean Society is meeting?"

"Sure do! Muskellunge Banquet Room." She pointed to a room behind her. "You guys looking for your mom? She in for the convention?"

Number Five was about to respond, however, his eyes became distracted by a vending machine in the distance. "Hey, could I get some change?" He asked, handing the lady a five dollar bill.

"Oh, sure! I'll just look in my purse." The lady said, unzipping the bag that rested upon her waist. "Only a nickel and a couple of dimes. Oh! You...are... in luck, mister!" She exclaimed as she fished several coins out of the bag.

"You know, some say the best luck is to die at the right time." Number Five said, almost as if he was having an epiphany, before walking away from the lady without another word.

The woman blinked, her expression blank, as she tried to understand what the young man was talking about.

"I must apologise for his behaviour, ma'am. He's a little bit... well, you know..." Number Eight span her fingers by the side of her head. "Cuckoo." She lifted her eyebrows suggestively, before following Number Five.