If Those Elephantfish Would Talk...

Grant II takes Ophir to the Grey House with red trim, while the First Lady isn't home. Still hiding between Ophir's breasts, Elias still plays both voyeur and cuckold...

It's a long limo ride there. Here, Ophir tries to stay subtle, and texts her secret servants; many are her amazon buddies, from her days in the Afroasian Defense Force. She isn't sure if she can trust them...but she's about to find out.

Politely, Grant II looks away from her smartphone, as she communicates on it. As the president, he must encourage private post; it's a federal crime, after all, to trespass that privacy...

I know what you're thinking; Ophir isn't a North American. Alas, she is on North American soil; hence, the federation's laws still apply here...and I DON'T mean the Ethiopian federation's. Or the Somali's. Or the Iraqi's. Or the Sudanese's. Or the South Sudanese's.

The limo arrives. Grant II helps Ophir out of the limo. From between her breasts, Elias watches. He scoots around, between these enormous sacks of yellow fat, and lets his hard cock elongate...

One by one, Ophir's servants send devious signals to Ophir's smartphone, as she and Grant II are crossing the Grey House lawn. Ophir pretends to adjust her top, while really assuring her precious Elias, in her own subtle way, that everything's going to be alright, rock-a-bye...

On the Grey House lawn, elephants drink and bathe. They don't seem to acknowledge the foreigner on their master's land. It's just as well. Elephants have bad eyesight; but then, every leftist in North America knows that.

High above the Grey House, the federation's flag flies as it's expected to; at full-mast, and right side up. It probably won't fly so by the end of the day...

Grant II takes Ophir inside. She stands before the elephantfish tank, and admires Grant II's chiefs of staff...

In the background, two of the elephantfish listen to her thoughts. They can hear her comparing them to similar specimens that she's seen in Amharic aquariums.

AMHARA, Cyrus scoffs. WHAT DO THEY HAVE THAT WE DON'T?

WE'LL BE LUCKY IF SHE DOESN'T TAP THE GLASS, Novak mutters, telepathically.

Together, they listen. Her thoughts aren't the only ones they hear...

SHE'S NOT ALONE, Novak complains. BUT SHE LOOKS ALONE. WHAT THE FUCK IS UP?

MAYBE, Cyrus suggests, SHE'S GOT A SECRET SERVANT TRYING OUT A NEW KIND OF ADAPTIVE CAMOUFLAGE?

They listen more closely. The thoughts are there, but hardly decipherable...

I'M GETTING LEFTIST VIBES, Cyrus admits. I THINK WE SHOULD STOP.

WAIT. Novak listens more closely. HE'S THINKING THAT HE DOESN'T WANT TO BE HERE, AND THAT HE DIDN'T COME ALL THE WAY FROM THE HOODS OF NORTH RHINE-WESTPHALIA IN A JEWISH GODDESS'S RACK JUST TO WATCH FISH AS IF HE WERE A DUMMKOPF CHILD AT A DAMN AQUARIUM.

Cyrus shakes his head. WHO ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!

Novak shrugs. THAT'S JUST WHAT I HEAR. I AM, BY NO MEANS, DEFENDING ITS SANITY...OR THE SANITY OF WHOEVER'S THINKING IT.

GOOD, Cyrus admits. JUST WHAT WE NEED; ONE MORE REMINDER AS TO WHY THE N.A.F. NEVER, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, ANNEXES FOREIGN LANDS...ESPEICALLY NOT AFROASIA OR NORTH RHINE-WESTPHALIA. Cyrus hesitates. WHY DID I JUST SAY SOMETHING ABOUT NORTH RHINE-WESTPHALIA?!

IT'S...JUST SOMETHING THE TINY VOICE IS THINKING...

ENOUGH OF THAT, Cyrus demands. NORTH RHINE-WESTPHALIA IS IN EUROPE. I'M ALSO PRETTY SURE THEY'RE RACIST AGAINST AFROASIANS OVER THERE...

MORE GERMANS THAN FUCKING BERLIN, Novak admits. I'D SURE SAY SO.

"These are so interesting," Ophir gawks. "What are they?"

Grant II moves the furniture around the Oval Office. "They're Beene's elephantfishes. They're all male...and gay. They're also telepathic." He looks around. "So don't get scared if you hear voices."

"Oh, I'll try not to," Ophir says, smiling. She fixes her hair. "I'd be the shame of my country's military, if I was afraid of anything."

Ambruso is closest to the tank's glass. Courteously, he breaks his tankmates' common silence. THAT'S FUNNY, he thinks, catching her off-guard. RIGHT NOW, YOU LOOK LIKE YOU'D PEE IN YOUR LEOTARD IF AN ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS MEETING THREATENED TO DOOM YOU TO A LIFE IN THERAPY.

Ophir screams, and leaps back. She bounces off the wall behind her, and falls forward...

Inside Ophir's boobs, the floor rushes up at Elias. He knows it'll be a cushioned fall...but he tenses up, anyway...

Grant II swoops in, and catches her, helping her up. She's in his arms.

Ah; here, Elias relaxes. At last, his sexual experience has resumed its quality...

"Thank you," Ophir says, caressing some of Grant II's hair. "That was scary."

"Anything," Grant II says, panting, "for my country's special guests."

AH, STRAIGHT MEN, Ambruso complains. WHAT DO THEY SEE IN THESE WOMEN?

I DON'T KNOW, Cyrus thinks. BUT I'VE SEEN ONE DO CRAZY THINGS BECAUSE OF IT.

Novak's eyes are narrowed. THERE'S AN UNUSUAL BALANCE IN HER SEXUALITY, THAT SHOULDN'T BE THERE, IF SHE'S STRAIGHT. IT SEEMS TO BE COMING FROM THOSE TINY THOUGHTS COMING FROM HER RACK...

LET IT GO, NOVAK, Cyrus begs. AFROASIANS ARE JUST ANOTHER ALIEN SPECIES WE'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO GET. AND IF WE EVER DO, WE'D COMMIT A SIN THAT'S WORSE THAN ADULTERY.

WHAT ABOUT A SIN WORSE THAN DISHONORING A FATHER? Ambruso trades looks, between the other two elephantfish. OR THE SIN OF PUTTING OURSELVES, AS GODS, BEFORE AN INCUMBENT? ARE WE, OURSELVES, NOT ABOUT TO COMMIT THOSE NUMBERS?

I KNOW IT'S HARD TO SORT OUT RIGHT NOW, Cyrus admits. BUT FOR NOW, LET'S JUST TRY NOT TO THINK ABOUT IT. He looks around. IF WE THINK ABOUT IT, WE MIGHT ACCIDENTALLY SHARE IT WITH THE WRONG PEOPLE...

In another room, a secret servant has been tied up, by an amazon. He, for one, has overheard part of the elephantfish's plan...

"We should sit," Ophir suggests, back outside the glass, "and talk about our countries' affairs."

"We should," Grant II agrees. "But not over liquor...whatever we do."

Novak chuckles. LOOKS LIKE THOSE AREN'T THE ONLY AFFAIRS THEY'VE GOT TO DISCUSS...

Darkly and subtly, the other elephantfish linger in the shadows, and laugh evilly...

Ophir shields her eyes. It seems a window's open that shouldn't be. "The sunlight's really bright out there," she tells Grant II. Can you help an old woman out?"

"Of course." Grant II yells for his pages. He yells again. They don't come.

In rooms throughout the Grey House, his pages, while still bound, struggle and thrash. But Afroasian amazons are no bimbos, when it comes to confining captives...

"Fine," Grant II grumbles. "For one of THE rarest moments in Grey House history, I'll accommodate for the Afroasian president's retinas myself."

Grant II crosses the room, and approaches the windows. He gets to work, closing their curtains...

In the tank, Ambruso subtly stops generating arcs of electricity between his fins, and swims to the back of the tank. There, he hears peculiar noises...

WE'RE NOT ALONE, he tells the other fish. THEY'RE INSIDE AND OUTSIDE THE WALLS. THEY'RE HUMAN, AND FEMININE. THEY'VE JUST HUMILIATED A BUNCH OF MEN.

STRAIGHT MEN, I'M SURE, Ambruso reminds him. BUT SHOULD WE BE CONCERNED?

WHO ARE THE MEN THEY HUMILIATED? Cyrus turns, and looks at Ambruso. CAN YOU AT LEAST DECIPHER THAT?

Outside, Ophir sits, and checks her nails. She wants them to look feminine, and dominating, for the next time she needs to have a word with...

"Ms. President," an earpiece says to her, in her ear, "your great moment is up, in ten, nine, eight, seven..."

With that, Ophir sticks her finger into her rack, and stuffs Elias deeper, where he'll be safe. She stands, screams, and charges Grant II, as he prepares the window to her liking...

Grant II freezes, like a deer in headlights. Behind him, outside the window, an RPG flies right at his head...

Far away, also outside the window, and from a concealed location, an Afroasian amazon aims a still-smoking RPG rifle. She stands tall, atop an eagle statue, and anticipates the boom...

Ophir jumps on Fitz, and pins him to the floor. Above them, the RPG flies through the window, shatters it, travels into the center of the room, and explodes there.

Still between Ophir's boobs, Elias sighs, and moves his feet around. His toes have made contact with something strange. It's cold...a lot colder than anything else in here. Whatever it is, he can certainly tell it's not of her...

Gradually, he turns himself upside down, and surveys it more, with his hands. When he figures out what it is, he nearly vomits, and crawls back into Ophir's bust.

It's Grant II's nose. Somehow, it's wedged itself a lot deeper into Ophir's chest than he would've expected...

Outside the Grey House, the other amazons send their president a message, confirming the RPG's firing. Ophir gets it, in her earpiece, but can only nod; if she told Grant II the truth now, she'd get in BIG trouble.

Plus, she knows her precious Elias wants to see more action. If anything, she's just bought the show more time.

Right on cue, the First Lady gets home. Mrs. Grant walks right into the parlor...and sees the mess.

"High, Mel," Grant II says, with a boobs-muffled voice. "How are threads stores in Lincoln City these days?"

Mrs. Grant doesn't move. She's in a catatonic state.

Outside, the amazons scatter. Inside, they free the captured secret servants, and knock them out, to buy themselves some time. With it, they extract. No one sees them, and no one stops them.

Much later, the secret servants come to, rush into the Oval Office, and analyze the damage. Outside, federal agents and a local fire truck have arrived.

After a lengthy process, Grant II and Ophir get relocated, with an armed escort, to a classified fort somewhere in the North American wilderness. Mrs. Grant, by contrast, gets sent to a hospital.

On the news, Aaron O'Reilly reports the disaster. He somehow, for some strange reason his watchers can't seem to figure out, he doesn't laugh as much while describing the First Lady's latest condition...

As one of the secret servants wanders through the Grey House, he stops, and studies the elephantfish tank...but not for long. He knows they can read his thoughts...and if it turns out that they really are plotting terrorists...

And yet, he only heard them think a few words. For all he knows or cares, they could be kidding...or talking about something else. For now, he gives them the benefit of the doubt. But for the time being, he'd better make sure he gets assigned to the president's detail at the secret fort, as often as Mr. President can afford to have him there...

In the present day, Elias finishes telling Liv his story. Now, they're both sitting on the rim of the foot hole of Grant II's slipper. Above, Grant II still sleeps. It's still dark outside...but getting brighter, with the wee moments of dawn.

"Since then, Domina's done all she can to protect me," he tells Liv. "Once sense, Grant II almost ate me, thinking I was a bowl of stew up for grabs. Other than that, it's been a very secure stay here. I'm only not including Domina's more passionate advances because I should be used to them by now...if I'm not already."

Liv scoffs. If she's gotten used to being in her lingerie around a North Rhine-Westphalian she didn't know until tonight, or seeing the same in just briefs, Elias can't tell...

"If I were big," Liv tells him, "I'd take you on as a client, and find some way to clean up your mess for you. Except I can't, for at least two reasons. The first is that I'm too small to do my job. The second is that you and your sexual game have put my husband...uh, LOVER, in peril at least once. And I feel like I owe you judgment for that."

Elias glances down into the foot hole's depths. Around them, it's like a crater.

"You did kick my ass down there," he reminds her. "Also, I take ass-kickings from a woman five times a day; yours wouldn't communicate your intended message."

Liv sighs. "Fine. Consider us even. Just...don't take it personally if I ever have to do it again if Fitz ever gets hurt because of this."

"I understand. I'd do the same to you if you ever hurt my Domina."

Liv arches her brows, and studies him. "Somehow, I think Kaw-Liga is more likely to win the heart of the Choctaw maid."

Elias sighs. "I used to live among hip-hopping Turkish-Germans, need I not remind you!"

"Lived with, yes. But didn't you say that you often felt like their hood's weakest link?"

From behind them, thunder approaches. Elias almost rushes to protect Liv...

From above, a spotlight shines. It looks around, until it spotlights Liv and Elias.

Moments pass. Elias smells the air. "It's Domina," he whispers. "I can smell her."

This is an awkward moment. Ophir should be more thankful they can't see her face.

"Hi," her voice thunders down upon Liv. "I...I can see you've met my Elias."

"Es tut mir leid, Domina," Elias begs. "I found her down here, and she whooped my ass."

"Fear not, my Elias." From behind, Ophir caresses Elias's tiny back with her finger. Elias yelps when he feels her finger. "She is African. I believe you."

Liv shivers. "Given my circumstances," she says, "I'll take that as a compliment."

"What's going on?"

Impulsively, Ophir shines the flashlight in Grant II's eyes, as the latter wakes. He swears, and shades his eyes, as she does...

If the situation was too awkward before, it just got unbearable. But for the sake of sparing you the repetitive monotony of the details, let's move on to what happens next...