Sally's Secret

Chapter 18

She'd written her own little ditty to remember the names of all 320 skeletal muscle sets and set it to the tune of "I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General." With the last ounce of resolution she had, her crazy invented song burst out on him in all its show-tune spectacular glory, courtesy of a complete lack of inhibition, which was also his fault, damn him.

Gilbert and Sullivan's version certainly was a hit with audiences, but Maria's version packed a punch they lacked, that being memorisation of her song actually served a purpose and got her through anatomy class with flying colours. Sure, she still had to learn the origins, insertions, and actions separately, but that didn't feel as difficult once you had the names to hang them on.

Of course, to make the syllables fit the tune and to provide rhyme to aid memorisation, the song ended up even weirder and longer than Sullivan's version of the lyrics. It was sort of sad Maria couldn't make out The Alchemist's facial expression while she regaled him with her mnemonic masterpiece. A line or two into her performance, she couldn't remember why this was important, but even when her singing became slurred and slowed-down due to her drug-induced state, she didn't waver in her resolve to belt out the entire crazy number—all six freaking stanzas.

Unfortunately, even a long song couldn't last forever. She wrapped it up on a slightly off-key but heartfelt crescendo of the song's last lyric, "cricothyroid". She'd always thought that making the outtro end with a vocal cord muscle was genius. Now more intoxicated than any alcohol could ever make her, her neck went limp and her head drooped over, like taking an unintended bow for her performance.

"Brava, my dear." The Alchemist sounded...amused? She didn't have the brain power to analyse anything very well right now. "But enough gibberish. Let's go back over my previous questions, and this time you will tell the truth. What is Alan Tracy's favourite food?"

"Tacos." She felt a tiny pang of regret after uttering the word, but it didn't feel as sharp as it should have been. She was flying high as a kite and had no control over her mouth. That lack of control extended to leaving her answer at just one word. She kept going without pause, "He loves my tacos so much and he's so thankful when I make them, that I want to make them every day just to see his eyes light up. Speaking of his eyes, Alan only has eyes for Kayo. And why shouldn't he? She's basically Wonder Woman but prettier and she has a better uniform. She can kick anyone's ass and she even has the invisible plane when she uses that 'optical camouflage' thingy on her Thunderbird. Technically, she doesn't have bullet-proof bracelets, but that's only because she hasn't mentioned the idea to Brains. He'd probably whip some up for her in a second if she asked for them. Brains could make anything. If Brains cared about money, he could make zillions of dollars or euros or pounds or yen or pesos or—"

"Stop!"

Unlike with the song, she'd just been rambling in a random stream of consciousness and when he interrupted that stream, she lost her train of thought and ceased yammering. She just sat there, stunned and delirious, but at least she wasn't able to feel that buzzing fly of pain that hovered dangerously just outside her mind.

"What is Gordon Tracy's favourite food?"

"Hot dogs. Granted, not the most nutritious food in the world but I'd make him hot dogs all the time if it would get him to stop eating those nasty Celery Crunch bars and the spray cheese. Those packaged things are so full of preservatives and have super wasteful wrappers. It doesn't help that Gordon's lazy when it comes to picking up his trash. Not lazy in everything, mind you, just the trash. You don't get legs like his if you're a totally lazy person. You know what I mean? Gosh, his legs are so sexy it's painful. I don't know how Lady Penelope can resist him. Maybe she's into women? I wonder if Gordon has ever thought of—"