Penthouse skylights bathed the hardwood floor in soft squares between fuzzy X's. A potted fern stretched its fronds towards the glow, twisting in an unstable balance for a much needed sun-shower. In its shadow, a tiny metallic figure lay prone, broken, its head severed from its body.
"Damn, Sacha." Ash poked the robotic monkey with a wooden spoon "What'd it do this time?"
"None of your business," she said from the kitchen. The sound of her sharpening her cleaver was familiar, yet always unsettling.
Ash lifted Bobo III by the torso and carried him deeper into the penthouse. He face broke into a grin as he poked his head into the curtained-off workout area--boxer's tape, magic markers, and even bamboo staves near the sparring ring. Inspired, he went to work.
Raphael strolled into the impromptu workshop minutes later, the hulking black man shirtless, swinging a gallon of water. "The fuck you doin'?"
"Honoring my messiah." Ash finished his project, scribbling on towel-cloth. With a wink, he hefted his standard and marched back into the studio penthouse proper, head held high.
The majority of the gang wouldn't be home for another hour, so he had ample time to finish what he started, all the while through Sacha's sighs and deriding commentary.
* * *
Lillian approached the door with Jin in tow, both their hands full of groceries. Sacha always insisted on authentic foods, which no one in their right mind complained about. She pushed the door open, calling, "We're home!"
She paused, gasping; her sack of fresh breads hit the floor.
"Bobo," Jin said, shouldering past, "what have they done?"
His newest creation, Bobo III, hung decapitated, crucified with the apartment's fern as his backdrop. Lillian winced on many levels—from Jin's reaction, Bobo's unknown final moments, and this display itself. The monkey's head lay at the base, tipped downward, eyes shut.
"Ash!" Jin shouted. He stomped towards the couch a short distance away.
Already rolling with laughter, Ash put up a poor defense against the infuriated AI expert. "It wasn't me, I swear," he said, red-faced between slaps and breaths, still busting a gut.
Lillian focused in on the crucifix, noting the message written on a shredded towel, 'he died for your panties.'
"Sacha?" Lillian said, looking to the gang's homemaker who'd come to watch the brawl.
"That's what the bastard gets—all three of them." The redhead flushed a bright cherry, her eyes narrowed at Bobo's crown, a tiny, crude thong stretched over his scalp.
"But Sacha, how could you?" Jin said, shiny-eyed, leaving Ash to nurse the pink handprints on his face and arms.
"Like I was saying," he chuckled, once again all smirks, "I was only honoring the little fucker for his noble sacrifice. Sacha's panties are a treasure worth some tinker-toy parts."
"Still, don't you think this is in bad taste?" Lillian said, still appraising Ash's handiwork.
"No, this is bad taste; hey, Sacha, what's the best part about dating a twelve year old."
Silence.
"If you pull her hair back, she looks ten."
This time Lillian winced as the cleaver again came into view, as it often did whenever Ash opened his mouth.