This fanfiction was a bit of a dedication to the members of MTC's production of "Arsenic and Old Lace", as well as the house members who sat and deciphered all the lovely sexual innuendos. I don't even know what genre this was supposed to end up as, but I can guarantee that it will be pretty much all of them in the end. Good Lord. Have mercy, this will likely be the worst, most unrefined, inappropriate thing I've ever written. ~Cat.

Rating: T+, I think. For swearing, blood, and implied sex.

It was a warm September night. The oldest house in Brooklyn was still and peaceful, a stoic picture of bygone days. A warm light, electric, was on in an upper room. Below, the bushes were still, no creeping Karloffs to plague the house in a nightmarish fashion. It was the tail-end of summer, one of the evenings that made the world wish it would stay summer for all eternity.

Within, two sisters were seated across from each other at the dining room table. They were elderly, but still oddly spry, their outward physical appearances the only drag on inwardly young, charitable souls. There were candles lit, and there was an empty bottle of homemade elderberry wine on the edge of the table. The tall, willowy sister let out a giggle.

"This... Is a fantastic idea. Possibly the best one yet, my dear sister." She twined her fingers in a great pile of grey hair atop her head. "It trumps the toy drive, the soup kitchens... But, how exactly do you believe this will work?"

The other sister pursed her lips over a cup of tea. She chuckled in kind, creating bubbles across the surface. "We're two old women! How would anyone suspect, Martha, dear?" She winked and shook her finger scoldingly. The sister named Martha giggled as well. "We're far too sweet for that. And, if you think about it, the old men in question are quite an eyesore to the general public."

"Indeed, Abby. But not to us. We have use for them... While this 'general public' does not." Martha adjusted her high collar and smiled in an uncharacteristically devilish way. "I think you're right. We will be doing the humble community of Brooklyn a great service."

Abby poured herself another cup of tea, the caffeine showing no obvious effect on her ability to speak or judge. "I do believe that the lack of our elderly old fellows in metropolitan New York will come to be quite the..." She coughed, "Benefit to the economy. As a plus, there will be much less road rage, I think." [She speaks of a hail of elderly men being run over by the recent inundation of automobiles in Gilded-Age New York. Those "fast-moving demons" were perhaps the biggest cause of death in male senior citizens during that time... Besides the Brewster sisters, of course.]

"You know," continued Martha, reaching for the empty wine bottle and eyeing it, "no one will ever be able to refuse a glass of delicious homemade wine. Not from us."

Abby nodded vigorously. "Exactly my thoughts. It just oozes memories of the old days. And you know how elderly folk feel about the old days." She smirked, disregarding the insult she just launched upon herself and her sibling. It was perhaps their greatest idiosyncrasy, that they could not admit their true age. Perhaps the death of their dear father had caused it, or perhaps it was deep-seated neurosis. [For sure it's the latter.]

There was a great clattering of feet on the floor above, and the noise trailed down the stairs and into the living and dining rooms. It was Teddy Brewster, the beloved aunts' nephew and adoptive ward. He was a grown man, obviously, but he obviously displayed a sort of childish aura. Perhaps it was he was beyond mere imagination; he thought himself to be Theodore Roosevelt, through and through. It showed in his clothing, and hair styling. A set of drab fatigues was his choice for the day.

"Hallo, aunts! The plans for Panama are going BULLY! Just BULLY!" He grinned from underneath a proud walrus mustache. Abby and Martha smiled, a hint of sympathy in with the happiness. They did not find him mad, just slightly beyond help. The siblings had agreed to humor him so that he would not undergo some sort of breakdown like his oddball of a brother, Jonathan.

They exchanged glances. "Panama?" They knew, of course, that 'Panama' was actually the cellar of the old house. Teddy was planning with his 'Cabinet' to begin digging a series of 'locks' in the expansive underground space.

"Yes, Panama! It's going positively BULLY!" He smiled widely, still. "The Cabinet and I are planning to advance into the country and dig a system of locks in the Canal. It will be the biggest transportational advance of the CENTURY!" Teddy thrust a proud fist across his body as the sisters' eyes widened with yet another addition to the plan.

Abby was the one to speak up, her voice a facade of concern and surprise. "Do be careful of the yellow fever, Teddy, and be sure to throw them out of reach. Right into the locks, that's the ticket." Her use of history and truth was enough to keep her nephew in the dark about what they were truly planning to do. [The calculating old nutter...]

"Oh, you are right, dear Aunt Abby..." His voice was genuinely realizing, and he turned to mount the stairs. "I shall have to make the preparations, darling aunts." He mounted the stairs, and with a frenetic hail of stomping and exclamation of "CHAAAAARGE!" Teddy Brewster was out of sight again. Above, the aunts heard his voice, low, speaking with his 'Cabinet'. Ah, well...

Martha grinned and turned back to her sister, who remained across the small table. "You are good, dear sister."

"Oh, I try, Martha. I try." They shared a grin as they cleaned up the remnants of the night's meal, snuffing the candles and replacing the small flickers with a burst of modern-day electricity. "Now, we musn't do anything just yet. The dear Reverend Dr. Harper will be over tomorrow afternoon with his adorable young Elaine."

Abby closed the creaking door of the hutch on the other side of the room, the lights flickering off of green bottles of wine stored away for later 'use'. "Indeed, that man is a saint with people. He knows when something is amiss with a soul..."

"But when they leaves," the grey-haired Martha prompted, "We begin as soon as possible. List, perhaps, an advertisement for Good Hospitality and a Comfortable Bed in the newspaper. For only lonely old men feel the draw of the past..."

Abby tittered and sunk into the cushions of the sofa. "I simply can't wait!"

"Nor can I, sister Abby. Nor can I." [We haven't had manflesh in so long!]

End of Chapter One.

Afternotes: Side notes are my thoughts on the dialogue, rather reminiscent of a PhanWank (Phantom of the Opera parody). Otherwise, certain humorous references (such as Teddy's overuse of the Bully Gun) are taken directly from the author's ideas during watching the play.