And You Can't Tell Anyone (Track Twelve: III) 2, chapter 1

It was not a typical, chilly October night. It was beyond chilly. The wind blew the leaves in the park, skittering the dried husks over the play sets and picking up sand from its box. Two people sat together on a freezing cold bench, taking the opportunity to do some cuddling while they waited for their friends. Wren, an average sized, dyed blonde, wrapped her windbreaker around herself a bit tighter.

"Geeze it's frigging cold out. I don't think I've ever experienced this vicious of weather before."

Mike, her friend of several years and current lover, tucked her closer to his chest. Wren could not help but feel a bit more content as she nestled against his much warmer chest. His voice vibrated into her.

"Yeah, it's actually supposed to get cold enough to ice over the pools around here. That'll be.... interesting."

"Interesting?" Wren rolled her eyes. "It's like against nature or something. Like you in that sleeveless shirt right now. It's wrong. Well, okay it's usual but," she frowned, "aren't you the least bit cold?"

"Nope."

"Liar." Wren shook her head and muttered, "Men."

Loud enough so she could hear, Mike imitated, "Women."

They both looked around in confusion, as someone else grumbled, "Couples." Following the voice, Wren leaned over to peer under the bench.

"I take it that you two are done playing then?" She asked Tré.

The drummer rolled onto his stomach and grinned, "Well, I am. I don't know when Billie is coming." He chuckled in a meaningful way. "Might have to wait 'til the spring thaw."

Mike leaned over as well. "Alright, what did you do to him?"

Tré did his best to look innocent which, if they did not already know he had done something, was fairly convincing. "All I did was ask him to demonstrate for me how long his tongue was. You know a, 'I show you mine if you show me your' thing." His wicked smirk was enough to make Wren instantly think some rather nasty, dirty things about him and his comrade. Tré narrowed his eyes at her. "Quit thinking like that! Such a sick mind. Tsk tsk." He nodded wisely, "I have taught you well, young padawan."

"How does a tongue contest turn into Billie Joe missing in action?" Mike pressed.

Tré gave them an enticing look and wriggled out from under the bench. Wordlessly, he trotted away. Curiosity aroused, Wren forsook the warmness of Mike, and followed Tré around a skate ramp to the play structure. Billie Joe was immediately evident. He was just standing there, shivering in his t-shirt, seeming to be inspecting for dust or something very small on the fire pole.

No, not inspecting, Wren corrected, more like making out.

Mike's forehead furrowed as he frowned. "Billie Joe, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Ah am sssthuck thoo the thole. Thré thith ith thoo me."

Wren looked over at Tré, who was looking proud, then back to Billie Joe. "Stuck? What do you mean? How?"

"My thongue isth sthuck thoo the thole. Eh'ss throthen thoo eht. He puhusheth me inthoo eht anth thow my thongue isth ssthuck."

Mike crossed his brawny, tattoo-mottled arms. "Tongues don't freeze. Quit joking around, let's go before we all do freeze into fucking popsicles."

"Ah cahn'th mooth!" Billie Joe stepped back, and his tongue remained, stuck to the pole. "SSthee?"

"Oh quit goofing, you guys need to think up some better pranks than this." Wren came over and gave Billie Joe a shove.

"Ah ah, aaaah. OW!" He yelped and stumbled away, hand over his mouth. "Holy fuck, my fucking tongue!" He glared at Wren, "I told you it was stuck! Man, it burns. Ow ow ow."

Seeing that he was in actually pain, Wren patted his back as she laughed. "I'm sorry; I thought you were just being stupid so that I don't know....You guys do think weird things are amusing."

"Well...." Tré shifted into Deep-Creepy-Breathy-Ominous-Announcer-Type Voice, "Things are about to get a whole lot weirder around here."

A gleeful light sparkled in Billie Joe's green eyes. "Oh yeah! It's that time again!" Mike nodded and rubbed his hands together.

"What time? All I noticed what that it's a cold time of year." Wren wandered back to Mike's side.

"It's time for...the Gnome Game." Tré announced dramatically.

"The what?" Wren looked around as the guys' smiles widened.

"It's a little household tradition," Mike stated as by way of explanation.

Childishly, Tré squealed, "And it's Wren's first time as roomie! This is gonna be the best Game ever!"

Still in the dark, Wren crossed her arms. "What on earth is the Gnome Game? Warfare with lawn ornaments? What?"

"We cannot tell you until the Gnome Game Opening Ceremonies." Tré whispered. "It is forbidden to break such ancient traditions."

"Ancient?" Wren shook her head, "This is obviously something you dreamed up. C'mon please," she whined. "I want to play, and I want to know what to do."

Billie Joe shook his head, "No, you'll just have to wait for the ceremony."

"Well, when's that?"

Mike looked at Tré. Tré looked at Billie Joe. Billie Joe looked at both of them. "It starts tonight."

Tré slipped back into his Deep-Creepy-Breathy-Ominous-Type-Announcer-Voice "At midnight, the members of the Gnomish order will come together to add another to their ra--" He spluttered as Billie Joe shoved a handful of sand into his mouth. "Hey! People have pissed in that! I know! I was one of them."

"Well, it won't kill you." Billie Joe shrugged. Then he stuck out his tongue, which was raw and a bit red. "At least it won't make you bleed."

Mike widened his eyes. "Ooooh. Blood. We need that for tonight. And marshmallows. For a sacrifice."

"So, you three started your own cult. Why am I not surprised?"

Tré tried to look sophisticated, an effect that was completely ruined by his sand beard. "Pffft," he said scornfully, "cults are for amateurs."

"We got something more.... exclusive," Mike murmured.