(( It's time for another uncalled-for offbeat blooper episode!
"Holy shit, Vynk," Sukava whispers. "This is awesome! Beta's about to get totally wasted! Let's stay and watch. ...Damn, I wish we had popcorn."
"Yeah, me too," Vynkor agrees. Then, after a moment of thinking, "Hey, actually, they could be really helpful in aiding our escape."
"
Them!?" Sukava whisper-gasps, shocked. "But that's
Beta! Nobody is dumber than Beta - not even Gamma, as hard as that might be to believe! Buck said so! And besides, you do realize that we're missing all our gear and we're half-naked too, right? Not even
fairy dust could save them now!"
Vynkerbell nods. "I know, but all they need is a little time to level the playing field. I have a plan that can do that for them... and it's going to require us getting naked."
"Completely?" Sukava gasps, in a wide-eyed manner that seems like it might be a little out-of-character - not entirely unlike the plan that Vynkor is presently hatching.
"Yes. See if you can find any radio stations on that commbox you have. And I'll need some of your hair," Vynk says, cutting off a few locks from Sukava's head with one of their knives. "It's nice and dark - I'll slick it down by using some of my medigoo as hair gel."
"But whatever for?!"
"
Mustaches."
Meanwhile, throughout all this, nothing really happens out in the main area. Why? Simple enough: somehow, the effects of time are mitigated by incessant talking, as is often the case in roleplaying games, comics, movies, and other works of fiction. One wonders why the galaxy's best fictional scientists haven't put their heads together to study this bizarre phenomenon, hopeful that they could harness its immense potential to create infinite energy... or perhaps permanent eternal stasis pods (provided you could get enough womenfolk together).
But none of that matters now. What
does matter is that suddenly, as everyone is in the middle of their favorite game, "point guns at each other",
a Strange Sound begins to loudly emanate from a commbox attached to the hip of one of two lovely, mustached ladies who come strolling into the room, dancing and shaking their hips.
"¡Arriba, arriba! ¡Ándale, ándale!" the women shout, trilling their voices to the only Mexican phrase they know (courtesy of Bugs Bunny).
Everyone in the room lowers their weapons slightly, thoroughly confused and bewildered.
Keshor sputters. "The fukc is
this shit?!" he cries out. "K - Kinorvan?! Did you do this?"
"Uh..." Kinorvan clearly did not: he's just as confused as the rest, especially when the two women begin dancing out of their armor, leaving it lying in pieces behind them on the floor as they twirl past Kaquyu. "Uhhh... Yes? I mean, yes! Yes, I uh... I did... this..."
"¡Arriba, señor!" Vynkor trills with a
very definitely out-of-character giggle, stroking Kinorvan's cheek as she dances past. He watches in dumbfounded amazement.
"And which one of you is the lucky birthday boy?" Sukava cries out, sweeping off her sombrero in a grand motion and starting to dance with it.
"...Birthday boy? What the
actual fukc?" Keshor spits out, trying to reason with his sanity. He feels like he's finally gone off the deep end.
Saoirse sputters. "Wh-where the
cuisneoir did you get a sombrero, anyway?"
"Shh shh shh," Vynkor says, putting the finger of her somehow-no-longer-disabled left hand against Saoirse's lips. "Only the birthday boy may talk. And are you the birthday boy?" She points a finger in Caleb's direction, giving her hips a little shake.
But Caleb can't answer. Why the hell is it that whenever he's put into situations with pretty women, he's always high off his ass? But there he is, sitting on the couch with a fistful of black flake. He honestly has no idea how he got ahold of it. (Maybe it was a little
birthday magic.)
Yuuji, standing behind a bunch of other aliens, has decided that this is most certainly NOT something that people from Tartarus would do, and he has stumbled on the wrong party. Mortified, he backs down the hallway from which he came as quietly as he can, lest the horrors that dwell within follow. He's the lucky one - poor, cowardly Frank is terrified but doesn't know what the hell to do. Nilo, on the other hand, just stares on with a blank, thoroughly unamused expression.
But all the fun and games must eventually come to an end. Keshor grabs the still-twirling Sukava by the arm as she tries to dance past him.
"Oh, señor!" Sukava gasps, laughing - but stops laughing when Keshor plucks the commbox from her waist, holding it up.
"The
actual goddamn FUKC is going on?!?!?!" Feb Keshor shouts. "What the fukc even IS a 'birthday boy'?!" - and then his mouth drops as a newcomer does a spectacular somersault-worm-moonwalk-split into the room.
"It is I!
I am your birthday boy!" the newcomer cries, dancing so amazingly with his +1 agility that even the other aliens around the room begin to clap. "I am the great Brom Keegan of legend! Lord of the Ermhelm underworld and legendary dancer! Ladies, human and alien alike, swoon in my presence!"
On cue, Kaquyu faints dead away, a twinkling smile upon her lips.
Buck shakes his head, slinking back behind the doorframe. "An' I thought
I was the one that done drank too much."
"Oh my god!" one of the hiltorel in the back of the room exclaims. "Is it - could it
really be?" His face lights up like a little child meeting their idol for the first time. "It
is! Brom Keegan is
actually here!"
"You know of me?" Brom Keegan grins, doing a complicated rendition of the Mexican hat dance. (He's known everywhere, but almost nobody actually
acknowledges that they know him. This is actually a first.)
The hiltorel nods exuberantly. "Of course I know of you! You're the greatest marksman in the galaxy! And I'm your
number one fan!" He rushes forwards. "Mr. Keegan, can I please have your autograph?! Sign my third appendage!"
...And a pistol round kills the poor alien right in the goddamn face, just like what had happened to Ses. It is truly tragic - likely the only person that Brom will ever meet that will admit to being his fan.
Feb Keshor blows the smoke off his pistol and shuts off the commbox. The Mexican music stops, as does Brom's dancing, as he cradles the poor hiltorel's form in his arms.
"By Keegan's sniper rifle... By the suns of Ermhelm..." Brom whispers, his lip trembling, "You shall be...
avenged."
"Now, if we have all that
fukcery out of the way," Keshor says, "Can we
please get back to having a normal, sane,
realistic argument??"
The jig is up - or the Mexican equivalent, at least. "Beta really
is as stupid as they say," Vynkor sighs, pulling off her mustache and wishing her plan had involved keeping her gun. "That was the
perfect distraction! Why the hell didn't you guys
do anything?!"
Beta, stunned, stares dumbfounded at Vynkor. (With the exception of Caleb, who (while also staring at Vynkor (eyes possibly a little too low (do you guys realize this is actually the sixth level of parentheses in this post?))) is drooling a little and mostly looks high off his ass.)
"Right..." Saoirse mumbles, as she realizes that they had the perfect opportunity to escape. "We could've left. That was actually a very good distraction..."
"Oh, we're leaving?" Caleb slurs, half in a blissful dream. He smiles in a thoroughly creepy manner at Vynkor. "I'll see you on the ssshhip. We'll - we'll bang, okay?"
Saoirse and Vynkor both glare at Caleb.
Frank is missing: he's gone into hiding, as Frank likes to do.
Nilo sighs and shakes his head.
"Welp, that's Beta for you!" Buck laughs, giving a grin to the camera as a laugh track plays.
The credits roll as Brom wails a long "nooooooo" to the sky, an alien corpse in his arms.
))