Chester A. Arthur XVII and Queen Victoria XXX sat in the car without speaking, their charred and decimated surroundings becoming more and more familiar with every passing mile. The CD player made a stilted ka-chunk as it shifted through each empty tray, eventually settling on the same dollar-bin disc that had been playing in an endless loop for the last eight hours.
“You know, this wasn’t a bad CD for a dollar.”
“Yeah, I kinda like it.”
The music continued to fill the car at a pleasant volume, and the two went back to sitting in relative silence: Chester A. Arthur behind the wheel, bleary-eyed and determined; Victoria staring out the passenger window in a wearied daze.
Chester A. Arthur XVII cleared his throat.
“Hmm?” asked Queen Victoria XXX.
“Huh? I didn’t…”
“Oh. Sorry.”
The silence descended again, not lifting until the pair finally reached their apartment parking lot.
“Kind of an uneventful trip,” said Chester A. Arthur XVII, shifting the car into park.
“Yeah,” agreed Queen Victoria XXX, stretching her back.
Chester removed the key from the ignition. The CD stopped playing. The engine sputtered and died.
“Made pretty good time, too.”
“We did,” said Queen Victoria XXX, “especially considering all the shit that went down after we got lost.”
“Ha, yeah,” said Chester A. Arthur XVII. “Man, those fucking…”
“Seriously. I can’t believe they made you marry…”
“I don’t… I’m really not ready to talk about that yet.”
“And then, when we…”
“And you had to…”
“Oh, god!”
“Yeah.”
“That poor horse.”
“Dude,” said Chester A. Arthur XVII, opening the door to the apartment and entering the kitchen, “we’re back. We got beer.”
“Lots and lots of beer,” said Queen Victoria XXX. “Get off your ass and help us bring it in.”
“My dear lady,” said William H. Taft XLII, walking into the kitchen from the living room, “my posterior has been aloft for quite some time.”
“That… doesn’t seem right,” said Queen Victoria XXX, tilting her head.
William H. Taft XLII was walking into the kitchen on his hands.
“OK, whoever’s controlling Billy needs to leave now,” ordered Chester A. Arthur XVII. “I’m not above injuring his body grievously.”
To reinforce his point, Chester A. Arthur XVII waved the two cases of beer he was carrying in a threatening manner.
“As you wish,” vibrated the vocal chords inside of William H. Taft XLII, “but I feel you should know, this was entirely his idea.”