Eeeeeey baesephine,
Hope X-Mas dinner with the family goes well! I had to think pretty hard about what to get you this year aside from games and shit, but I think I hit the nail on the head with this one. It's called the Painkiller, and it's a combined razor fan and grappling hook. Doesn't make much of a bang, but it's great for forecasting Bloody with a Chance of Limbs :P
Oh, and btw, some of those parcels are marked "PRIVATE!", like that. You'll be needing them for when I come over later, wink wink.
Keep dat arse phat 4 me~
Dirky <3
-------
Broseph and Okuu,
Eeeeeey how goes the X-Mas? When am I gonna be an uncle? :P
LMAO, in all seriousness, though, I got you both a sunbed. I know, your girlfriend is the sun already so you don't really need one, but hey, if you ever want to head to Kuwahawi next year, you might as well get ready to prepare for that tan! Dunno where you guys can put it tho, unless you unplugged the filter on the shark tank, but I don't think that's such a good idea. So here's hoping you find a decent place for it!
Keep on rockin, bro!
Big D.
-------
Dawn,
Okay, so I called you a bitch one time, and to be fair, you did kinda make a massive screwup. But you're still a Kobber and I guess I can still call you my friend even if you do mess up a little - nowhere near as bad as your mom does, so there's that. Anyway, I got a few connections with some blokes up high, so I managed to get a little something forged for you. I think you'll appreciate it, after all the nonsense you've been through, and it'll be a great help in letting you put your feet up.
...yeah, it's a new casual chassis. It'll take some getting used to, since it's Olympian construction, but it's better than constantly walking around in bodies designed for computing or battle. After what went on in Vegas last year, you deserve it.
Also tell your mum I said hi and good luck with the family.
Love,
Dirk
-------
Cauren,
I know we haven't spoken much, so I thought now might be as good a time as any to have a chat. And let me start of by saying a dozen kids?!?!?! Jesus Christ, are you running some kind of benefits scam? :P
But all joking aside, I know raising them all must be hell for both you and your wives, so I went and bought you this big robot triceratops. It responds to voice commands, learns over time with multiple use and your kids can even ride on it. And it's plush, too, so there's no sharp edges or corners to get hurt on! It probably beats them messing around with those weird cube animals that Carol knocked together, who knows what kind of disasters those things have caused?
Oh, and I also got a NERF Gun set for Lucky. I figure if she wants to be like the Kobbers, the best step is to start with pretend guns before moving to real ones.
Hope everything's alright with you and yours, and have a happy Christmas!
Love,
Dirk
-------
Vince,
You poor, sad bastard. Have a laptop, and watch some stupid videos to ease the pain your dumb customers and pushy store cause you. Fun fact - this was my old Cré laptop, but it kicked the bucket so I fitted a whole new hard drive and shit and sent it over to you. Consider it penance for not going into your store at any point, although tbh that might be a blessing in disguise.
Oh, and it has a few games on it too - Darkest Dungeon, Civ 6, Bit Trip Runner, all that stuff. Enjoy.
Don't let the bastards get you down!
Dirk Angelos
-------
Jaws,
Didn't I see you doing stunt work for that shitty SyFy film about a two-headed shark? Whatevs, you're a brilliant actor and it's a shame you have to get stuck with crap like that. I was gonna send you tooth whitener, but that's a stupid idea and also you're a friggin' shark, you don't need tooth whitener when you constantly grow new ones. So I thought I'd send you a fine selection of port, since movie stars seem to like stuff like that. Try not to drink all of it at once, I saw you at Drown Yer Mates and lol you hilarious when drunk.
Keep doing what you do best!
Best Wishes,
Dirk Angelos
-------
setpehn,
hahahaha you shacked up with thle lgorillaz guitarist you sly motherfucker
have a ccoholatve fountain because i htave like fucking ten dof thoose
i'm svery drnufk
drik
-------
Melody and Co.,
Don't really know you guys much, but I wanna spread a little Christmas spirit to you guys since I have so much money. So I threw some your way - a whole bunch of £100 gift vouchers, to be exact. Don't spend it all in one place, and be sure you buy something nice! :)
Btw Melody, are you and Beck a thing yet? Hurry up, I wanna find some outlandish wedding present I can send to the both of you XP
Love,
Dirk :)
-------
Clash,
Hey, haven't seen you around much. Shame we didn't talk, but I guess you had problems of your own, so we never really met. I know you like swords, tho, cause Cauren told me, so I got my connections to make you a bigger version of this thing. It slices, it dices and it cools you down on hot summer days! Wouldn't reccomend using it in the kitchen tho, unless you like soggy food.
Dirk
Showing posts with label Dirk. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dirk. Show all posts
Thursday, 22 December 2016
Monday, 28 November 2016
Non-Canon Silliness 4: Dirk Design Desicions
WARNING: The following contains large amounts of #Butts, and may not be suitable for certain readers. It is also not canon and extremely silly, and thus has no actual bearing on the Zoofights RP Timeline.
With that said, enjoy!
-------
"I am uncertain about this new body design, Dirk."
There was a sentence that encapsulated Dirk Angelos in his entireity. A generally good soul overall, he nevertheless had an enthusiasm that somewhat overrode common sense, and a lot of his endeavours ran the gamut from 'unneccesary' to 'just plain crazy', fueled by the kind of testosterone that would make a rhinoceros cry foul. It was still uncertain of where on that scale starting his own robotics and clothing company would fit, and even as he began to put out ads and put together actual working models for purchase, it was a clear that more research was needed to determine how crazy this plan of his was.
However, Dawn Cosine, looking at the new body she'd ordered a week or two ago, was beginning to see a few telltale warning signs.
"Something seems... off," she explained, twisting around to look at the new chassis from many angles.
With that said, enjoy!
-------
"I am uncertain about this new body design, Dirk."
There was a sentence that encapsulated Dirk Angelos in his entireity. A generally good soul overall, he nevertheless had an enthusiasm that somewhat overrode common sense, and a lot of his endeavours ran the gamut from 'unneccesary' to 'just plain crazy', fueled by the kind of testosterone that would make a rhinoceros cry foul. It was still uncertain of where on that scale starting his own robotics and clothing company would fit, and even as he began to put out ads and put together actual working models for purchase, it was a clear that more research was needed to determine how crazy this plan of his was.
However, Dawn Cosine, looking at the new body she'd ordered a week or two ago, was beginning to see a few telltale warning signs.
Original Art by zdemian
"Something seems... off," she explained, twisting around to look at the new chassis from many angles.
Monday, 27 April 2015
Viva Las Vegas
WARNING: The following is really fucking long. Read only when you have the spare time. And also something to drink.
~THE PITBROS HOUSE, MANHATTAN~
"Aaaand... check."
"Alright!" whooped Dirk as he threw his last bag into the back of the car. "All set and ready!"
Pit nodded, smiling. Finally, everything was ready. After months of preparation, planning and... not getting too excited, everything was ready for their third big excursion. This time, the ZFS Corporation had settled down in Las Vegas, looking to branch out into big-budget hotels and nightlife entertainment on top of all it's over services, and the Pitbros. knew the other Kobbers would be right behind. It hadn't been hard to find the new King of Beasts - the combined hotel, lounge and casino resort had been advertised literally everywhere one could advertise such a thing. And where the King of Beasts went, the angels would go, naturally.
As Dirk headed round the car to add his computer back to the collection in the back seat, Pit looked up just in time to see Utsuho emerging from the house, her own small bag slung over one shoulder. The older brother had made sure to pack her suitcase in with the others in the trunk of the car, so the Hell Raven didn't have as much to bother carrying from the house.
"You ready?" grinned Pit.
"Yeah," responded Utsuho, holding up her own bag. "I've got everything!"
"Alright, hop in." And Pit opened the passenger door, allowing Utsuho to walk down and climb into the seat. Then, as Dirk found his own place in the back, Pit circumnavigated the car and clambered into the driver's seat, ensuring he was well-seated before shutting the door.
"You excited to go?" he asked as he buckled up. "I know Vegas isn't going to be like anything you've been to before, so hopefully you'll enjoy it!"
"Yep!" Utsuho seemed to positively radiate excitement. "I mean, I know you took me to Manhattan, but you said it's a lot different from Vegas, so I'm really wondering what it'll be like!"
"Yeah, I've never been, either!" A grin split Pit's face as he pulled out the Satnav. "This is gonna be a new experience for both of us!"
"Not to mention getting married, too!" Dirk shot back. "Hope you guys booked a decent venue - if they don't do shots, I'm out!" Pit just rolled his eyes at that - maybe asking Dirk to be the best man wasn't the brilliant idea it had seemed at the time.
Utsuho turned a little red. "Eheheh... yeah, I'm looking forward to that... Oh what are you planning on doing, Dirk?" she queried, turning around to face Dirk where he sat.
The dark angel shot her a lewd grin. "More like who," he chuckled.
"Dirk, please," groaned Pit, facepalming.
"But yeah, I'm meeting up with Jo once we get there," clarified the younger angel. "She's been itching to go for ages - wants to challenge all the casinos, I bet." He grinned, knowing that his girlfriend's love of money was one feature he was more than happy to support - especially in a place like Vegas.
"Huh, didn't expect that out of her..." Utsuho took the time to mull that one over, before brightening up. "Well, hopefully she'll do a good job of it!"
"Don't worry, I'll be behind her all the way."
"Of course you will." Unfazed completely by yet another of Dirk's puns, Pit finished typing in the adress, and then hit the ignition button. At once, the car roared into life, almost as eager to get going as it's occupants were, and the sound seemed to lend some life into the white-winged angel. He gripped the steering wheel with expectant fervour and turned to his riding companions, eyes shining with excitement. "
"Alright," he called out, "we ready for off?"
"Yep!" was Utsuho's response. "I'm ready whenever you guys are!"
"Then off we go!" And with that, Pit pulled the car out of the driveway, swung it around with practiced ease, and then set off with no small amount of tire squeal down the road that lead out of the neighborhood and, eventually, Manhattan.
"Cocaine and booze," crowed Dirk, "here we come!"
"Dirk, please."
~THE PITBROS HOUSE, MANHATTAN~
"Aaaand... check."
"Alright!" whooped Dirk as he threw his last bag into the back of the car. "All set and ready!"
Pit nodded, smiling. Finally, everything was ready. After months of preparation, planning and... not getting too excited, everything was ready for their third big excursion. This time, the ZFS Corporation had settled down in Las Vegas, looking to branch out into big-budget hotels and nightlife entertainment on top of all it's over services, and the Pitbros. knew the other Kobbers would be right behind. It hadn't been hard to find the new King of Beasts - the combined hotel, lounge and casino resort had been advertised literally everywhere one could advertise such a thing. And where the King of Beasts went, the angels would go, naturally.
As Dirk headed round the car to add his computer back to the collection in the back seat, Pit looked up just in time to see Utsuho emerging from the house, her own small bag slung over one shoulder. The older brother had made sure to pack her suitcase in with the others in the trunk of the car, so the Hell Raven didn't have as much to bother carrying from the house.
"You ready?" grinned Pit.
"Yeah," responded Utsuho, holding up her own bag. "I've got everything!"
"Alright, hop in." And Pit opened the passenger door, allowing Utsuho to walk down and climb into the seat. Then, as Dirk found his own place in the back, Pit circumnavigated the car and clambered into the driver's seat, ensuring he was well-seated before shutting the door.
"You excited to go?" he asked as he buckled up. "I know Vegas isn't going to be like anything you've been to before, so hopefully you'll enjoy it!"
"Yep!" Utsuho seemed to positively radiate excitement. "I mean, I know you took me to Manhattan, but you said it's a lot different from Vegas, so I'm really wondering what it'll be like!"
"Yeah, I've never been, either!" A grin split Pit's face as he pulled out the Satnav. "This is gonna be a new experience for both of us!"
"Not to mention getting married, too!" Dirk shot back. "Hope you guys booked a decent venue - if they don't do shots, I'm out!" Pit just rolled his eyes at that - maybe asking Dirk to be the best man wasn't the brilliant idea it had seemed at the time.
Utsuho turned a little red. "Eheheh... yeah, I'm looking forward to that... Oh what are you planning on doing, Dirk?" she queried, turning around to face Dirk where he sat.
The dark angel shot her a lewd grin. "More like who," he chuckled.
"Dirk, please," groaned Pit, facepalming.
"But yeah, I'm meeting up with Jo once we get there," clarified the younger angel. "She's been itching to go for ages - wants to challenge all the casinos, I bet." He grinned, knowing that his girlfriend's love of money was one feature he was more than happy to support - especially in a place like Vegas.
"Huh, didn't expect that out of her..." Utsuho took the time to mull that one over, before brightening up. "Well, hopefully she'll do a good job of it!"
"Don't worry, I'll be behind her all the way."
"Of course you will." Unfazed completely by yet another of Dirk's puns, Pit finished typing in the adress, and then hit the ignition button. At once, the car roared into life, almost as eager to get going as it's occupants were, and the sound seemed to lend some life into the white-winged angel. He gripped the steering wheel with expectant fervour and turned to his riding companions, eyes shining with excitement. "
"Alright," he called out, "we ready for off?"
"Yep!" was Utsuho's response. "I'm ready whenever you guys are!"
"Then off we go!" And with that, Pit pulled the car out of the driveway, swung it around with practiced ease, and then set off with no small amount of tire squeal down the road that lead out of the neighborhood and, eventually, Manhattan.
"Cocaine and booze," crowed Dirk, "here we come!"
"Dirk, please."
Thursday, 19 March 2015
Saint Patrick's Dirk (Belated)
"Dirk?"
Dirk made a noise like a hippo imitating a V10 engine, but didn't move.
"Dirk," groaned Pit, "wake up already."
"Just let me stick to what I'm good at, yeah?" grumbled the dark angel, and rolled over
"Would it help if I kicked you?" Pit was starting to get irritated as well.
"Would it give you any satisfaction?" was Dirk's reply, shifting position a little.
"No."
"Me neither, so bugger off. Why is this bed so hard?"
"Because," said Pit, with the tone a primary school teacher uses to address a particularly stupid child, "it is not your bed. It is the hood of a Lamborghini which has been crashed through-"
Dirk was bolt upright in an instant, ignoring the telltale throb of a hangover as he looked around. What he thought was his bedroom turned out to be the dining room, which had undergone a startling transformation since he had last seen it - a lot of green paper shamrocks were pinned to the roofs, and one wall featured a poster of a leprechaun bearing the most tortured cereal-mascot smile possible. The counter surface was littered in empty bottles and glasses of varying descriptions, and an unidentifiable liquid substance was splattered on the floor - probably a spit drink of some kind.
What was more startling, he discovered when he turned his head, was the massive hole in the wall. And the Lamborghini Reventón stuck halfway through it, the hood of which he was currently sitting on. Somehow, despite the forces required for a car like this to break through a solid brick wall, it didn't have a single scratch on it, looking as though it had walked freshly from the factory.
There was a long pause whilst Dirk tried to correlate all this information.
"...and when did this get here?" he tried, at last.
"How the heck should I know?!" cried Pit, throwing up his hands in frustration. "You're the one who crashed it into our house!"
"Let's not shout, okay?" hissed Dirk, bringing up a hand to his forehead. Here came the hangover - and it wasn't a pretty one, lancing through his brain like a javelin made of sandpaper and hedgehogs. With an effort, he pushed himself upright, slid off the hood of the Lambo and staggered around to investigate it. Might as well do something productive, if only to ignore the massive amounts of ranting from Pit he could foresee.
"Looks new," he muttered under his breath as he inspected it. "Hardly done a few miles, I should think."
"Do you have any idea," Pit was beginning to say, "of how much this is gonna cost us. Wes Weasley will be laughing all the way back home - if we can even get him to do something about this!" Dirk pointedly ignored him and peered through the window of the car, taking in the blurry images of black leather, brown Alcantara and several crates of-
"Holy shit," he cried despite the resurgence in head pain. "It's full of beer!"
"Not to mention," Pit went on, "that somebody obviously owns that car, and we're going to have to do a hell of a lot of explaining when we give it back to them!"
"None of it's even open!" Dirk added, still ignoring him as he wrenched the door open and bent over to inspect the goods.
"And how are we-?" Pit suddenly trailed to a stop, and for a moment there was silence. And then the audible smacking noise made Dirk turn his head around, finding his brother with one hand over his mouth and shoulder shaking in a fit of hysterical laughter. His eyes seemed to be aimed downwards, for some reason...
"What?" was the dark angel's confused question.
By way of reply, because he was still giggling fit to burst, Pit suddenly whipped out the Mirror Shield and held it up.
And right there, emblazoned across the seat of the shamrock-green Speedos that were the only piece of clothing Dirk had on, were the words "KISS ME, I'M IRISH".
-------
Some say you could hear Dirk's scream of horror from five miles away.
Dirk made a noise like a hippo imitating a V10 engine, but didn't move.
"Dirk," groaned Pit, "wake up already."
"Just let me stick to what I'm good at, yeah?" grumbled the dark angel, and rolled over
"Would it help if I kicked you?" Pit was starting to get irritated as well.
"Would it give you any satisfaction?" was Dirk's reply, shifting position a little.
"No."
"Me neither, so bugger off. Why is this bed so hard?"
"Because," said Pit, with the tone a primary school teacher uses to address a particularly stupid child, "it is not your bed. It is the hood of a Lamborghini which has been crashed through-"
Dirk was bolt upright in an instant, ignoring the telltale throb of a hangover as he looked around. What he thought was his bedroom turned out to be the dining room, which had undergone a startling transformation since he had last seen it - a lot of green paper shamrocks were pinned to the roofs, and one wall featured a poster of a leprechaun bearing the most tortured cereal-mascot smile possible. The counter surface was littered in empty bottles and glasses of varying descriptions, and an unidentifiable liquid substance was splattered on the floor - probably a spit drink of some kind.
What was more startling, he discovered when he turned his head, was the massive hole in the wall. And the Lamborghini Reventón stuck halfway through it, the hood of which he was currently sitting on. Somehow, despite the forces required for a car like this to break through a solid brick wall, it didn't have a single scratch on it, looking as though it had walked freshly from the factory.
There was a long pause whilst Dirk tried to correlate all this information.
"...and when did this get here?" he tried, at last.
"How the heck should I know?!" cried Pit, throwing up his hands in frustration. "You're the one who crashed it into our house!"
"Let's not shout, okay?" hissed Dirk, bringing up a hand to his forehead. Here came the hangover - and it wasn't a pretty one, lancing through his brain like a javelin made of sandpaper and hedgehogs. With an effort, he pushed himself upright, slid off the hood of the Lambo and staggered around to investigate it. Might as well do something productive, if only to ignore the massive amounts of ranting from Pit he could foresee.
"Looks new," he muttered under his breath as he inspected it. "Hardly done a few miles, I should think."
"Do you have any idea," Pit was beginning to say, "of how much this is gonna cost us. Wes Weasley will be laughing all the way back home - if we can even get him to do something about this!" Dirk pointedly ignored him and peered through the window of the car, taking in the blurry images of black leather, brown Alcantara and several crates of-
"Holy shit," he cried despite the resurgence in head pain. "It's full of beer!"
"Not to mention," Pit went on, "that somebody obviously owns that car, and we're going to have to do a hell of a lot of explaining when we give it back to them!"
"None of it's even open!" Dirk added, still ignoring him as he wrenched the door open and bent over to inspect the goods.
"And how are we-?" Pit suddenly trailed to a stop, and for a moment there was silence. And then the audible smacking noise made Dirk turn his head around, finding his brother with one hand over his mouth and shoulder shaking in a fit of hysterical laughter. His eyes seemed to be aimed downwards, for some reason...
"What?" was the dark angel's confused question.
By way of reply, because he was still giggling fit to burst, Pit suddenly whipped out the Mirror Shield and held it up.
And right there, emblazoned across the seat of the shamrock-green Speedos that were the only piece of clothing Dirk had on, were the words "KISS ME, I'M IRISH".
-------
Some say you could hear Dirk's scream of horror from five miles away.
Thursday, 12 February 2015
Valentines (with thanks to RubyChao)
"Okay, well... good luck, bro."
That's all the advice Pit ccould give before Dirk, still smirking like a hyaena, strolled out of the house with his package under one arm. With a sigh and a shake of the head, Pit pushed the door shut until the latched clicked, signifying that, for whatever reason, his brother would not be back for a while.
Then he turned and strolled back into the living room, where Utsuho was lounging on the couch.
"Anything on telly?" he asks.
Utsuho shrugs. "Not yet... I think there's a good movie coming up, but it's not on for a while... What was Dirk doing, anyway?" she asks as she looks up at her boyfriend.
"Oh, he's off to deliver his Valentines present to Josephine," is the explanation. "And if I know my bro, which I do, I don't think he's gonna be back for some time..." Pit visibly shudders at this, as if knowing anything that could come from this would not be his definition of "good" at all.
"Oh, Valentine's day!" The Hell Raven perks up at this,eyes shining with interest. "Lady Satori told me about that once, but I don't really know much about it... it's about gifts and stuff, right?"
There is a pause as Pit tries to find the right words.
"Well... it's a bit more than that," he says, at last. "It's about showing that special person how much you care for them. How much they mean to you. And presents are a big part of it, yes, but it's kinda like Christmas in that regard. It's not about the receiving, it's the giving. It's about love." Sappy, yes, but exactly what you'd expect from Peter Angelos at this point, right?
Realization crosses Utsuho's face. "Oh... oh, I get it!" she cries. And then even further realization hits her, causing her to slump rather despondently into the couch. "But... I don't have anything for you, Pit... I didn't think I'd need to get anything so maybe I can go out now and find it if it's not too late?"
The angel gives a reassuring smile. "Sure, it's not too late. Don't worry. And I need to get something too, so... how about we both go, together?"
"Eheheh, thanks! Alright, let's go then!"
And thus, off the two went to get each other that special something.
-------
"Double Flying Cross Slash! NOW!"
The gigantic shere-like robot had already taken plenty of punishment, so when Heaven and Hel''s signature team attack came along it didn't stand a chance. In one fell swoop, the combined strike of Pit's Tiger Claws and Utsuho's boot carved a clean chunk right out of the midsection, obliterating precious wiring and circuitry. With a last, tortured groan, the mechanoid known as Helios toppled backwards, shedding components as it fell, to dash itself to pieces at last as it hit the ground with heavy clang.
Swooping around in a circle, the couple landed side-by-side to admire the wreckage of the latest Bonus Boss to fall victim to their team synergy.
"Whoo! That was pretty fun!" Pit grinned as he punched the air in triumph. "Nice moves, Okuu!"
"...I bet this is a really rare kind of Valentine's thing," added Utsuho, after a moment's silence. "Pretty sure most people wouldn't go fight a dangerous robot to celebrate!"
"That's the Kobbers for you," Pit retorted as he turned to face his fiance, smiling. "We're not 'most people'. And I'm kinda glad we aren't~" he added as he took the opportunity and leaned in for a hug, which Utsuho gladly accepted.
There was a small pause as the two simply enjoyed the moment. And then the raven, remembering something, pulled away.
"So, um..." she tried. "This might sound awkward after we just had our date thing but... Can we still get some chocolate?"
"Of course, Okuu."
-------
Meanwhile...
As the saying goes, that's our Dirky!
Tuesday, 23 December 2014
Dirkmas 3: Space Dirky (Part 2/2)
Last time on Space Dirky...
"Mah boss, Don Macro, 'eard about 'ow you shoved his girl, Mr. Angelos. An' he's callin' you out, you sunuvabitch."
Dirk felt the universe plummet out from him. Although that might have been the absinthe.
We now return to your regularly scheduled programme.
"Mah boss, Don Macro, 'eard about 'ow you shoved his girl, Mr. Angelos. An' he's callin' you out, you sunuvabitch."
Dirk felt the universe plummet out from him. Although that might have been the absinthe.
We now return to your regularly scheduled programme.
Wednesday, 10 December 2014
Dirkmas 3: Space Dirky (Part 1/2)
Riiiing... Riiiiing...
"Yo, Jo! How ya doing'?
"Pffft, really? Man, I know your mom's cooking is great, but it can't last that long, surely?
"...Okay, touche. Thank all the gods for antacid tablets, eh?"
"Me? Oh, I'm alright. And Pit? Well... He's gone to Gensokyo to visit Okuu's family. Apparently, they're all as crazy as some of us at the bar. So, yeah, that's a thing.
"Hey, you wanna know what else is a thing? You know that holiday you always said you wanted to go on? Well, I had a word with David, and-
"...That's right! WE'RE GOING TO PLANET TRENDY!"
"Yo, Jo! How ya doing'?
"Pffft, really? Man, I know your mom's cooking is great, but it can't last that long, surely?
"...Okay, touche. Thank all the gods for antacid tablets, eh?"
"Me? Oh, I'm alright. And Pit? Well... He's gone to Gensokyo to visit Okuu's family. Apparently, they're all as crazy as some of us at the bar. So, yeah, that's a thing.
"Hey, you wanna know what else is a thing? You know that holiday you always said you wanted to go on? Well, I had a word with David, and-
"...That's right! WE'RE GOING TO PLANET TRENDY!"
Tuesday, 29 April 2014
Belated Introductions
~ZFS Docking Bay, Manhattan, Earth~
If you've ever been stuck in an airport waiting for anything at all, then you don't need to go to the ZFS Docking Bay around the middle of April. It's pretty much that, but worse, because so many people are trying to get their reservations for the ZFS King of Beasts checked out, or buy last-minute tickets to ensure they at least get some kind of a bed to watch the stars go by on. The result is a cacophony of humans, aliens and more forming tidal waves instead of lines, and a staff and service straining under the weight of it all.
Which may have had something to do with the annoyance displayed by a certain pair of angels.
"Bloody security checks!" snapped Dirk, looking as though he dearly wants to punch somebody.
"I know, right?" groaned Pit as he hauled his own suitcase along behind him, one hand running through his hair. "The length they took, you'd think those guys had nothing better to do!" As he spoke, he permitted himself a glance upwards, surveying the irresponsibly massive timetable hanging over the luggage conveyers. Whilst many other flights and ships, headed to many other destinations, were present at this bustling airport, the angel's eyes immediately flickered to the biggest LED display at the top, and relief washed over him as he read what was tattooed upon it like spilled orange juice on a dark tablecloth.
"Thank Palutena," he breathed, "we're still on time."
"Ugh, and a good thing too," grumbled his twin, giving a sharp yank on his own suitcase as it lagged behind on the tiles. "I need to rest my fucking feet right now, I've been on them all day.."
"Well, here's our chance," came the response as the white-winged angel pointed towards the departure seating area to the left. Whilst the majority of the metallic benches were filled with holidaymakers of varying size, shape and shades of blue, by sheer luck he'd managed to find two of them close to the main plaza area, and immediately both brothers made an immediate beeline for them, moving so quickly you'd be forgiven for thinking they'd found water in a desert. As one, they flung themselves onto the unoccupied seats in a mad scramble, eventually sinking down into them with contended sighs as they took the weight off their aching feet.
"Much better," was Dirk's evaluation, and he immediately reached into a pocket and yanked out his 3DS, flipping it open to be greeted with where he'd left off on his game. Pit was quick to follow by pulling out a gadget of his own, but not a games console of any kind - a small, tablet-like device with earphones, which he immediately popped into his ears before tapping the screen. Noticing the movement, Dirk turned to observe his brother, and one eyebrow quirked upward as he observed the swirling pattern of yellow, black and white appearing on the screen - one that he had become recently familiar with.
"Dude?" he quizzed. "Right now?"
"Yes, right now," was the response. "I mean, what else can I do after enduring being patted down for that amount of time?" With another press, Pit conjured up a menu upon the screen and began eagerly scrolling through the options, searching for something that would soothe his annoyance and stress just right on this occasion.
Dirk shifted uneasily in his seat, a little disturbed. "I dunno, bro. You hear some stuff about the Ministry back in Ireland, and how they got the funding to do all this."
"Alright, I'll give you that their methods weren't exactly sound." Pit briefly looked up from his task to fix his brother with a reassuring grin. "But trust me, this new treatment thing's done me nothing but good. Even you had to admit that me not complaining so much about my workload was a nice change for once!"
Dirk permitted himself a small, sardonic chuckle at this, but said nothing, and Pit promptly returned to his device. And as the faint strains of the annoyingly-bouncy jingle filtered out through the older brother's earphones as he set about his unusual form of stress relief, the younger Pitbro looked around the airport, noting the variety of people that pass him by. A small smile passeds over his face as a realisation cameto him, one that, whilst not relevant to their earlier discussion, gives him something of a petty victory over his brother nonetheless.
He doesn't have to wait to meet his girlfriend.
Meanwhile, at another part of the airport, seating arrangements were the least of Beck's concerns.
"Mo-om," he groaned for the umpteenth time that day, "leave my hair alone!"
"For goodness sake, Beck," huffed Melody as she diligently raked the comb through her son's mullet, "you're acting like I'm trying to scalp you! I'm not Tomahawk Man, alright? And besides," she added, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of the boy's wiggling against her body, "do you want to end up with hair like your father's?"
Rock, standing a little way off, couldn't help but smile at the scene, knowing full well the discomfort his son was undergoing. But he wasn't above interjecting into the conversation: "Trust me, son, you don't want helmet-hair. None of the girls like a man who resembles a rejected Dragon Ball Z character."
"Do I look like I'm going on a blind date, dad?" whined Beck, almost yowling as the comb once again swept through his hair like a shark on the prowl. With a desperate grunt and one final kick of the legs, the young android finally succeeded in breaking out of the cage of his mother's arms, dropping out of the air and landing with a thump on both feet. Turning back, the boy shot a glare of annoyance up at his mother, who responded by sticking her tongue out at him in mockery of his childish behaviour.
"Look, I'm clean and neat now," grumbled Beck in response. "Can we get a seat now?"
At this, Melody made an exaggerated show of thinking very hard about it, putting one hand on her chin in a theatrical manner. "I don't knooooow~," she chimed, almost musically. "Are you sure you went over your list of things to pack?"
"Yes, mom!" Beck could have screamed at this point - the amount of torture inflicted on him this entire day was starting to tell on his nerves. Whenever he'd pictured his upcoming holiday on the ZFS, he pictured toys galore, a swimming pool and, most importantly of all, gormless and unsuspecting bad guys and goons to pummel senseless as proof of his cutting-edge tech. None of those fantasies involved being constantly harassed by his parents just to make very much sure he'd packed extra pairs of underpants, and he was rapidly starting to lose patience.
Fortunately for him, Melody simply laughed at his exasperation. "Just kidding, Beck, just kidding!"
It was about then that Rock checked his watch, and his eyes bugged out as he saw just what time it was.
"Jeez! Melody, honey, we'd better get going - we'll be late for our reservation otherwise!" His cry alerted Melody to the situation, who glanced up at the clock on the wall to confirm jjst what her husband had said. On seeing what the time was, she too goggled in surprise at the late hour, and then, thinking quickly, dropped to her knees to say a few final words to Beck.
"Alright, son," she began, and here rattled off her last instructions so quickly that it was a wonder that Beck was able to keep up with them. "Remember-to-wear-a-clean-shirt-every-day-and-don't-forget-to-wipe-your-face-every-morning-like-your-grandfather-told-you-and-make-sure-you-change-your-bed-and-ring-me-once-a-day-and-don't-eat-too-many-sweets-before-bedtime-also-try-to-be-civil-to-your-uncle-even-when-he-starts-putting-on-the-glittery-jumpsuit-okay-love-you-have-a-good-time-bye!" And without waiting for Beck to reply she gave him a farewell peck on the cheek and half-sprinting in the direction of the exit, Rock following closely behind.
Beck waved until they were out of sight, then sighed and turned back to the cafe.
Jewel Man lowered the coffee and shot him a smirk.
"Don't worry too much," he croomed. "I'm sure you and I can manage by ourselves~"
At the back of his A.I. Core, Beck groaned.
~A Military Camp, Undisclosed Location, Porphyrion~
"You mean, you're going alone?"
"That is correct," replied the Tactician nonchalantly, as he pushed a rather bulky-looking book into place in his backpack. The two others at the entrance of his tent - a bulky-looking, pimple-faced knight and a less bulky, but nonetheless intimidating brunette woman - gazed at him with astonishment, his frankness and seeming indifference leaving them at a brief loss for words.
"But... we're talking Orvance here!" cried the woman. "That place where they had that big war among the Star People, when the Festival was happening! There's gonna be trouble again, mark my words - there's never any good news when they get involved!"
"That's right," piped up the man, his armour clinking as he shuffled his feet to a better standing position. "That, and Dragonus is gonna be passing over the place. You can see it even from here," and at this he raised an armoured hand to point at the huge, floating mass that was visible in the sky, it's size apparent even from where they were. "You know what they say about what happens when it comes over a kingdom - Dragon Skies and all that."
The silver-haired man looked up from his packing, smiling up at his comrades. But it's a small and strained smile - not only a sad one, but also one that looks awkward and forced. The overall effect is that of someone who's read about smiling in books, but has a bit of trouble putting it into practice in a social situation. To him, it's rather like putting on a mask.
"Marco, Celia," he responded warmly, "your concern does you credit. But firstly, I have met the Star People before, as you know well from last year. And, contrary to popular opinion, they were as hospitable, friendly and accommodating as the nearest innkeeper at any establishment of our country you care to name." As he completed the sentence, he turned back to his packing, managing to slip a paper folder into a gap between books, before throwing the lid over its contents.
"Secondly," he added with a grunt as he struggled with the clip, "this is something I must undertake alone. Despite our best efforts as a team, we have come no closer as to solving the mystery of my identity - even my name remains unknown to me. I can only conclude, therefore, that my working apart from the group is the only way to efficiently and decisively solve this puzzle, one that has been hanging over my head all of my life."
An exasperated huff left Celia, the blonde hearing perfectly well what her comrade is saying but refusing to believe it. She quickly rounded upon Marco, looking to vent her frustrated disbelief on something else, and the taller knight actually shrank back at her expression of annoyance. She may have been only an archer, but there was a good reason for that - people fleeing from her temper made better targets.
"Tell him, Marco," she snapped, pointing at the robed man as he growled uncharacteristically at his uncooperative luggage. "Tell him this is a stupid idea and he's going to get hurt again."
Marco blinked, a little slow on the uptake. "Why? You just said it yourself. Besides," he added, with an almost defiant tone to his voice, "he can hold his own. He's got that magic book, remember?"
"Oh, yes," cried Celia sarcastically, throwing her hands up into the air. "Because that worked out so well the last time he left our company! Oh, he ended up with a bandaged head and a dire need for a new change of clothes, but it doesn't matter because this is something he needs to do himself!"
"Now, look, sis," Marco began to say. But that train of thought was interrupted by the click of a rucksack stop finally locking together. The two warriors turned to find the Tactician, with a triumphant cry at having bested the strap, hoisting the bag onto his shoulders, shifting it's weight into a comfortable position on his back. Celia merely rolled her eyes at the scene, her brother by contrast offering no input as the shorter man reached for the holdall by his sleeping bag, hoisting it up before walking towards them.
"I have already handed in my Absence of Duty notice," he announceed as he emerged from the tent into the late morning sunlight, "so the general knows what I'm doing. And with any luck, I'll only be a day's travel or so away from the garrison you are all moving to. I know this seems an inconvenient arrangement, but believe me when I say I have this all planned out with the least amount of inconvenience. And now, I really must be going, or I will be late for the opening ceremony at this rate."
He turns, took two steps forward, and bounced off somebody with an "Oof!" of surprise.
"No, you're not." Celia barred his waY, hands on her hips and face stern - she was the obstacle he'd collided with. "I've explained this to you until I'm blue in the face, but it's obviously not getting through that thick skull of yours. So I'll say it again - you have a duty to you King and-"
"Oh, dear," groaned Marco, placing one gloved hand upon his forehead. This was his sister on the starting line of what he liked to call "Lecture Mode". Everyone in the camp was familiar with this, where she poured out her mind and opinion on something or someone and would only stop until some other bodily function, like hunger or the need to piss took over. It was usually directed at some soldier or other who'd offended her in some way, and men and women alike dreaded to hear the moment when the archer got into full swing, ranting at the top of her voice at whatever unfortunate soul had invoked her wrath on this occasion. At any moment, it seemed as though the Tactician was going to be that somebody copping an earful from her.
Fortunately for Marco, she never got that far.
"Tace."
It was one of those blink-and-you'll-miss-it spells, a mere flash of the eyes and a hazing of the air that would otherwise go unnoticed. But the effect was dramatic - Celia's voice instantly cut out, not even a whisper coming from her mouth as her incoming lecture was stalled by surprise. Her slender brow knitted in confusion as she silently worked her mouth and jaw, at first unable to figure out what had happened, before catching sight of the stern yet knowing look upon the magician's face. Realization hit her like a ton of bricks, and she immediately began launching into what would have no doubt been an expletive-filled tirade at her fellow commander for pulling such a cheap trick, had she the voice to convey it.
Unfortunately, the silencing spell's effect meant that it merely looked like she was pulling a very convincing impression of an angry chimpanzee, arms flailing and face contorting like putty. Unable to help himself, Marco promptly burst out laughing at his sister's predicament, his knees giving out as he fell onto his rear with a clattering of armour. Whereupon the furious Celia rounded upon him, screamed something inaudible in his general direction and then turned and stormed away towards the camp's medical tent, needing only cartoon steam clouds pouring from her ears to complete the image.
A larger smile of amusement played on the Tactician's face as he watched Marco, still chuckling, pull himself up onto his feet, dusting himself down.
"Dicing with death, eh, mate?" the knight joked as he put one arm around the smaller man's shoulders. "You know how much she hates that spell!"
The silver-haired mage's smile widened into a genuine grin, his usual stoic demeanor sliding aside in the company of someone he was comfortable with. "Why else would I employ it so often?" he rejoined, in a hearty tone that matched his friend's own jocular mannerisms. "I will admit, however, that for a moment I was afraid she would actually strike me!"
"No need to worry about that," assured Marco. "She's all bark and no bite - always has been." Disengaging from his companion as he spoke, the knight quickly turned and began walking in the direction of the medical tent, no doubt in order to observe Celia receiving yet another dose of treatment for the spell. As he did so, however, he turned and called over his shoulder, raising his voice to be heard over the clatter and humming as the morning camp activities got properly underway.
"I'd clear out now, if I was you - she's gonna have some choice words aimed your way!"
The Tactician nodded, knowing all too well what those words would more than likely be. Then, without waiting to see if Marco would succeed in delaying his irate sister, he turned and quickly began to make tracks, walking at a very brisk pace that seemingly ignored the weight of both his holdall and the rucksack he carried with him. It wasn't long before he'd put a very good distance between himself and the camp - enough so that by the time Celia came seeking her usual brand of petty revenge, he'd be long one and she'd have to give up on the whole thing.
In his mind's eye, the rolling hills of Wensdale mingled and merged with the shining world of the Star People, and a whistful sigh escaped his parted lips.
It really had been too long.
~The Barrier, Northern Porphyrion~
The morning sun was just beginning to rise over the Barrier. It's bright fire blossomed on the horizon and tinted the packed snow, sparkling golden under red-daubed skies dotted with dark grey clouds. A shaft of light pierced through the thin veil of mist, striking the glacial ice and throwing up a hazy rainbow into the air that shimmered like heat haze. Yet there was no warmth to be found, for the driving wind carried with it the bitter cold of the north, and flurries of snow danced across the ground in freezing white sheets.
This didn't seem to bother the lone figure standing on the southernmost edge of the glacier, though.
Eyes squinting against the morning sun, Ymir the Tusk casually uncorked the stein he clutched in one gloved paw and brought it to his mouth for a swig. It had been two days since he'd begun his trek - two days since the epic bar brawl at the Grouchy Walrus that had seen the end of Markus the Mighty, the self-proclaimed strongest fighter in all his village. Tables had been smashed, glasses had been shattered over heads, and in the end yet another foolish challenger had been laid out on the beer-soaked floor, the patronage toasting the Tuskarr's victory. The ale he gulped down at this moment was a souvenier from the barkeep himself, and Ymir had been more than happy to accept it.
Yet there was one thirst he had failed to quench - the thirst for battle. Markus had been a warm-up, as far as he'd been concerned, and it seemed nowadays that there was nobody left to challenge him, nobody to match him in the arena. The old champions were gone, and all the new blood springing up was impatient and headstrong, with none of the respect for the old ways or appreciation for a hearty scrap. None of them cared for the meaning of the fight anymore - they only bothered to learn the fighting arts in order to boost their egos or seek petty revenge on class bullies or what have you. For a while, Ymir had felt a bit dejected.
But now, as he finished his drink and replaced the cork, his gaze was set on the far horizon, where the vague outline of towns and cities upon rolling hills could be seen through the mist. That, the barkeeper had told him, was Orvance - the same kingdom that saw the great War of the Stars but a year ago, where warriors of untold and unparalleled strength clashed for the fate of the kingdom, and indeed, the entire planet. Admittedly, the betusked brawler knew very little about the nature of stars, other than they served as useful guides on dark nights when a seal hunt had gone disastrously wrong.
But fighting... now, there was a siren call he couldn't refuse.
With a low chuckle, Ymir stepped down from the glacier, in that one movement crossing the borders between the North and Orvance itself. And as he continued his long trek south, the question crossed his mind of what Orvancian ale tasted like.
~Castle Bloodaxe, The Enchanted Forest~
It is a well-known and popular fact that Orcs do not form armies. The word "army" implies the presence of discipline, co-ordination and tactical aptitude that was beyond their simple, ale-addled minds. Ask an Orc to co-ordinate a team of footballers and he'd take one blank look at the blackboard before putting their fist through it, then charging out to piledrive the opposing team into the pitch. A better term for their military gatherings would be "rabble", since despite the numbers they still very much behaved like a crowd of hooligans on the lookout for windows to smash and cars to steal.
This particular rabble, emerging from the forests that surrounded Castle Bloodaxe, thought they were going to have a good time of it. The building they were approaching on looked virtually defenseless - their scouts had reported not a sign of archers on the battlements or guardsmen on the gates, and not even a single trace of a patrol had been detected on the surrounding land. Not one of the greenskins could believe their seemingly-amazing fortune, and had immediately clamored en masse to begin the day's pillaging in style. Had they the brains to remember just whose lands they were invading, then they probably not have been so cocky.
As it was, they had gotten just onto the third verse of their bone-chilling war chant before the portcullis flew open like it had been stabbed up the bum.
"HA'WAAAAAAY THA' LAAAAAADS!"
The poor bastards never saw it coming - the green and orange blur zooming out of the doors moved almost too fast for the eye to track. The front line of goblins was sent flying backwards in an instant, crashing into the burlier Orcs at the back and bowling them over like ninepins. The archers on the left flank immediately lost whatever morale they could claim to have, throwing down their weapons and bolting into the forest screaming. As for the ram-carrying siege trolls, they were so slow on the uptake that by the time they realized just what had happened, half of them were already unconscious from a hefty boot to the skull.
In a matter of minutes, it was all over - hardly a battle so much as a one-sided curbstomping. The rabble was in dismay, half of them in flight and the rest of them either unconscious or groaning from their fractured bones. The goblins were nowhere to be found, the catapults were wrecked shambles and the sole dragon they thought to bring along was tangled among the trees, whimpering in confusion. And amongst the confusion of it all stood the red-haired, axe-wielding barbarian princess who had caused the ruckus in the first place.
As the prone Orcs looked up at her, terrified and bewildered, Barbara Bloodaxe dusted her skirt down and flashed her trademark gap-toothed grin around the scene.
"Sorry te lace ye aal laak that," she called out in her trademark thick accent, "but Aa'm i' a bit o' a pelt. Star Festival's gannin' on doon Orvance whey, and Aa'm clammin' mightily fer a gud ale an' roast far ahint yon fells! Bide a few wee months, an' Aa'll be howway hyem 'afore ye can put a cuddie oop Blackwell Rock!"
And with that, the woman hoisted her axe over one shoulder and sped off into the forest, through a gap in the tress that marked the begginings of the cart trail. The Orcs took one look at her retreating form, hair flying in the wind, and decided that maybe the imp who'd wanted to start a band instead wasn't such a moron after all.
~The Drunken Gryphon, Wensdale~
Tavish is probably in a good mood. The Star Festival is coming round once more, meaning customers would soon be coming in to sample his huge menu of food and drink and, above all, make him huge wodges of cash. The Star People are returning in droves to share technology, recipes and more, and their unique brand of entertainment would inevitably draw in even more people from far and wide. And those people would need feeding, beds to stay in and an opportunity to get utterly smashed whilst shouting at the scrying glass. So yes, he's most likely in a good mood.
So in all the excitement of getting his tavern ready for the big tourist rush, he may not notice one of the floorboards shifting.
"Kero..."
If you've ever been stuck in an airport waiting for anything at all, then you don't need to go to the ZFS Docking Bay around the middle of April. It's pretty much that, but worse, because so many people are trying to get their reservations for the ZFS King of Beasts checked out, or buy last-minute tickets to ensure they at least get some kind of a bed to watch the stars go by on. The result is a cacophony of humans, aliens and more forming tidal waves instead of lines, and a staff and service straining under the weight of it all.
Which may have had something to do with the annoyance displayed by a certain pair of angels.
"Bloody security checks!" snapped Dirk, looking as though he dearly wants to punch somebody.
"I know, right?" groaned Pit as he hauled his own suitcase along behind him, one hand running through his hair. "The length they took, you'd think those guys had nothing better to do!" As he spoke, he permitted himself a glance upwards, surveying the irresponsibly massive timetable hanging over the luggage conveyers. Whilst many other flights and ships, headed to many other destinations, were present at this bustling airport, the angel's eyes immediately flickered to the biggest LED display at the top, and relief washed over him as he read what was tattooed upon it like spilled orange juice on a dark tablecloth.
"Thank Palutena," he breathed, "we're still on time."
"Ugh, and a good thing too," grumbled his twin, giving a sharp yank on his own suitcase as it lagged behind on the tiles. "I need to rest my fucking feet right now, I've been on them all day.."
"Well, here's our chance," came the response as the white-winged angel pointed towards the departure seating area to the left. Whilst the majority of the metallic benches were filled with holidaymakers of varying size, shape and shades of blue, by sheer luck he'd managed to find two of them close to the main plaza area, and immediately both brothers made an immediate beeline for them, moving so quickly you'd be forgiven for thinking they'd found water in a desert. As one, they flung themselves onto the unoccupied seats in a mad scramble, eventually sinking down into them with contended sighs as they took the weight off their aching feet.
"Much better," was Dirk's evaluation, and he immediately reached into a pocket and yanked out his 3DS, flipping it open to be greeted with where he'd left off on his game. Pit was quick to follow by pulling out a gadget of his own, but not a games console of any kind - a small, tablet-like device with earphones, which he immediately popped into his ears before tapping the screen. Noticing the movement, Dirk turned to observe his brother, and one eyebrow quirked upward as he observed the swirling pattern of yellow, black and white appearing on the screen - one that he had become recently familiar with.
"Dude?" he quizzed. "Right now?"
"Yes, right now," was the response. "I mean, what else can I do after enduring being patted down for that amount of time?" With another press, Pit conjured up a menu upon the screen and began eagerly scrolling through the options, searching for something that would soothe his annoyance and stress just right on this occasion.
Dirk shifted uneasily in his seat, a little disturbed. "I dunno, bro. You hear some stuff about the Ministry back in Ireland, and how they got the funding to do all this."
"Alright, I'll give you that their methods weren't exactly sound." Pit briefly looked up from his task to fix his brother with a reassuring grin. "But trust me, this new treatment thing's done me nothing but good. Even you had to admit that me not complaining so much about my workload was a nice change for once!"
Dirk permitted himself a small, sardonic chuckle at this, but said nothing, and Pit promptly returned to his device. And as the faint strains of the annoyingly-bouncy jingle filtered out through the older brother's earphones as he set about his unusual form of stress relief, the younger Pitbro looked around the airport, noting the variety of people that pass him by. A small smile passeds over his face as a realisation cameto him, one that, whilst not relevant to their earlier discussion, gives him something of a petty victory over his brother nonetheless.
He doesn't have to wait to meet his girlfriend.
Meanwhile, at another part of the airport, seating arrangements were the least of Beck's concerns.
"Mo-om," he groaned for the umpteenth time that day, "leave my hair alone!"
"For goodness sake, Beck," huffed Melody as she diligently raked the comb through her son's mullet, "you're acting like I'm trying to scalp you! I'm not Tomahawk Man, alright? And besides," she added, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of the boy's wiggling against her body, "do you want to end up with hair like your father's?"
Rock, standing a little way off, couldn't help but smile at the scene, knowing full well the discomfort his son was undergoing. But he wasn't above interjecting into the conversation: "Trust me, son, you don't want helmet-hair. None of the girls like a man who resembles a rejected Dragon Ball Z character."
"Do I look like I'm going on a blind date, dad?" whined Beck, almost yowling as the comb once again swept through his hair like a shark on the prowl. With a desperate grunt and one final kick of the legs, the young android finally succeeded in breaking out of the cage of his mother's arms, dropping out of the air and landing with a thump on both feet. Turning back, the boy shot a glare of annoyance up at his mother, who responded by sticking her tongue out at him in mockery of his childish behaviour.
"Look, I'm clean and neat now," grumbled Beck in response. "Can we get a seat now?"
At this, Melody made an exaggerated show of thinking very hard about it, putting one hand on her chin in a theatrical manner. "I don't knooooow~," she chimed, almost musically. "Are you sure you went over your list of things to pack?"
"Yes, mom!" Beck could have screamed at this point - the amount of torture inflicted on him this entire day was starting to tell on his nerves. Whenever he'd pictured his upcoming holiday on the ZFS, he pictured toys galore, a swimming pool and, most importantly of all, gormless and unsuspecting bad guys and goons to pummel senseless as proof of his cutting-edge tech. None of those fantasies involved being constantly harassed by his parents just to make very much sure he'd packed extra pairs of underpants, and he was rapidly starting to lose patience.
Fortunately for him, Melody simply laughed at his exasperation. "Just kidding, Beck, just kidding!"
It was about then that Rock checked his watch, and his eyes bugged out as he saw just what time it was.
"Jeez! Melody, honey, we'd better get going - we'll be late for our reservation otherwise!" His cry alerted Melody to the situation, who glanced up at the clock on the wall to confirm jjst what her husband had said. On seeing what the time was, she too goggled in surprise at the late hour, and then, thinking quickly, dropped to her knees to say a few final words to Beck.
"Alright, son," she began, and here rattled off her last instructions so quickly that it was a wonder that Beck was able to keep up with them. "Remember-to-wear-a-clean-shirt-every-day-and-don't-forget-to-wipe-your-face-every-morning-like-your-grandfather-told-you-and-make-sure-you-change-your-bed-and-ring-me-once-a-day-and-don't-eat-too-many-sweets-before-bedtime-also-try-to-be-civil-to-your-uncle-even-when-he-starts-putting-on-the-glittery-jumpsuit-okay-love-you-have-a-good-time-bye!" And without waiting for Beck to reply she gave him a farewell peck on the cheek and half-sprinting in the direction of the exit, Rock following closely behind.
Beck waved until they were out of sight, then sighed and turned back to the cafe.
Jewel Man lowered the coffee and shot him a smirk.
"Don't worry too much," he croomed. "I'm sure you and I can manage by ourselves~"
At the back of his A.I. Core, Beck groaned.
~A Military Camp, Undisclosed Location, Porphyrion~
"You mean, you're going alone?"
"That is correct," replied the Tactician nonchalantly, as he pushed a rather bulky-looking book into place in his backpack. The two others at the entrance of his tent - a bulky-looking, pimple-faced knight and a less bulky, but nonetheless intimidating brunette woman - gazed at him with astonishment, his frankness and seeming indifference leaving them at a brief loss for words.
"But... we're talking Orvance here!" cried the woman. "That place where they had that big war among the Star People, when the Festival was happening! There's gonna be trouble again, mark my words - there's never any good news when they get involved!"
"That's right," piped up the man, his armour clinking as he shuffled his feet to a better standing position. "That, and Dragonus is gonna be passing over the place. You can see it even from here," and at this he raised an armoured hand to point at the huge, floating mass that was visible in the sky, it's size apparent even from where they were. "You know what they say about what happens when it comes over a kingdom - Dragon Skies and all that."
The silver-haired man looked up from his packing, smiling up at his comrades. But it's a small and strained smile - not only a sad one, but also one that looks awkward and forced. The overall effect is that of someone who's read about smiling in books, but has a bit of trouble putting it into practice in a social situation. To him, it's rather like putting on a mask.
"Marco, Celia," he responded warmly, "your concern does you credit. But firstly, I have met the Star People before, as you know well from last year. And, contrary to popular opinion, they were as hospitable, friendly and accommodating as the nearest innkeeper at any establishment of our country you care to name." As he completed the sentence, he turned back to his packing, managing to slip a paper folder into a gap between books, before throwing the lid over its contents.
"Secondly," he added with a grunt as he struggled with the clip, "this is something I must undertake alone. Despite our best efforts as a team, we have come no closer as to solving the mystery of my identity - even my name remains unknown to me. I can only conclude, therefore, that my working apart from the group is the only way to efficiently and decisively solve this puzzle, one that has been hanging over my head all of my life."
An exasperated huff left Celia, the blonde hearing perfectly well what her comrade is saying but refusing to believe it. She quickly rounded upon Marco, looking to vent her frustrated disbelief on something else, and the taller knight actually shrank back at her expression of annoyance. She may have been only an archer, but there was a good reason for that - people fleeing from her temper made better targets.
"Tell him, Marco," she snapped, pointing at the robed man as he growled uncharacteristically at his uncooperative luggage. "Tell him this is a stupid idea and he's going to get hurt again."
Marco blinked, a little slow on the uptake. "Why? You just said it yourself. Besides," he added, with an almost defiant tone to his voice, "he can hold his own. He's got that magic book, remember?"
"Oh, yes," cried Celia sarcastically, throwing her hands up into the air. "Because that worked out so well the last time he left our company! Oh, he ended up with a bandaged head and a dire need for a new change of clothes, but it doesn't matter because this is something he needs to do himself!"
"Now, look, sis," Marco began to say. But that train of thought was interrupted by the click of a rucksack stop finally locking together. The two warriors turned to find the Tactician, with a triumphant cry at having bested the strap, hoisting the bag onto his shoulders, shifting it's weight into a comfortable position on his back. Celia merely rolled her eyes at the scene, her brother by contrast offering no input as the shorter man reached for the holdall by his sleeping bag, hoisting it up before walking towards them.
"I have already handed in my Absence of Duty notice," he announceed as he emerged from the tent into the late morning sunlight, "so the general knows what I'm doing. And with any luck, I'll only be a day's travel or so away from the garrison you are all moving to. I know this seems an inconvenient arrangement, but believe me when I say I have this all planned out with the least amount of inconvenience. And now, I really must be going, or I will be late for the opening ceremony at this rate."
He turns, took two steps forward, and bounced off somebody with an "Oof!" of surprise.
"No, you're not." Celia barred his waY, hands on her hips and face stern - she was the obstacle he'd collided with. "I've explained this to you until I'm blue in the face, but it's obviously not getting through that thick skull of yours. So I'll say it again - you have a duty to you King and-"
"Oh, dear," groaned Marco, placing one gloved hand upon his forehead. This was his sister on the starting line of what he liked to call "Lecture Mode". Everyone in the camp was familiar with this, where she poured out her mind and opinion on something or someone and would only stop until some other bodily function, like hunger or the need to piss took over. It was usually directed at some soldier or other who'd offended her in some way, and men and women alike dreaded to hear the moment when the archer got into full swing, ranting at the top of her voice at whatever unfortunate soul had invoked her wrath on this occasion. At any moment, it seemed as though the Tactician was going to be that somebody copping an earful from her.
Fortunately for Marco, she never got that far.
"Tace."
It was one of those blink-and-you'll-miss-it spells, a mere flash of the eyes and a hazing of the air that would otherwise go unnoticed. But the effect was dramatic - Celia's voice instantly cut out, not even a whisper coming from her mouth as her incoming lecture was stalled by surprise. Her slender brow knitted in confusion as she silently worked her mouth and jaw, at first unable to figure out what had happened, before catching sight of the stern yet knowing look upon the magician's face. Realization hit her like a ton of bricks, and she immediately began launching into what would have no doubt been an expletive-filled tirade at her fellow commander for pulling such a cheap trick, had she the voice to convey it.
Unfortunately, the silencing spell's effect meant that it merely looked like she was pulling a very convincing impression of an angry chimpanzee, arms flailing and face contorting like putty. Unable to help himself, Marco promptly burst out laughing at his sister's predicament, his knees giving out as he fell onto his rear with a clattering of armour. Whereupon the furious Celia rounded upon him, screamed something inaudible in his general direction and then turned and stormed away towards the camp's medical tent, needing only cartoon steam clouds pouring from her ears to complete the image.
A larger smile of amusement played on the Tactician's face as he watched Marco, still chuckling, pull himself up onto his feet, dusting himself down.
"Dicing with death, eh, mate?" the knight joked as he put one arm around the smaller man's shoulders. "You know how much she hates that spell!"
The silver-haired mage's smile widened into a genuine grin, his usual stoic demeanor sliding aside in the company of someone he was comfortable with. "Why else would I employ it so often?" he rejoined, in a hearty tone that matched his friend's own jocular mannerisms. "I will admit, however, that for a moment I was afraid she would actually strike me!"
"No need to worry about that," assured Marco. "She's all bark and no bite - always has been." Disengaging from his companion as he spoke, the knight quickly turned and began walking in the direction of the medical tent, no doubt in order to observe Celia receiving yet another dose of treatment for the spell. As he did so, however, he turned and called over his shoulder, raising his voice to be heard over the clatter and humming as the morning camp activities got properly underway.
"I'd clear out now, if I was you - she's gonna have some choice words aimed your way!"
The Tactician nodded, knowing all too well what those words would more than likely be. Then, without waiting to see if Marco would succeed in delaying his irate sister, he turned and quickly began to make tracks, walking at a very brisk pace that seemingly ignored the weight of both his holdall and the rucksack he carried with him. It wasn't long before he'd put a very good distance between himself and the camp - enough so that by the time Celia came seeking her usual brand of petty revenge, he'd be long one and she'd have to give up on the whole thing.
In his mind's eye, the rolling hills of Wensdale mingled and merged with the shining world of the Star People, and a whistful sigh escaped his parted lips.
It really had been too long.
~The Barrier, Northern Porphyrion~
The morning sun was just beginning to rise over the Barrier. It's bright fire blossomed on the horizon and tinted the packed snow, sparkling golden under red-daubed skies dotted with dark grey clouds. A shaft of light pierced through the thin veil of mist, striking the glacial ice and throwing up a hazy rainbow into the air that shimmered like heat haze. Yet there was no warmth to be found, for the driving wind carried with it the bitter cold of the north, and flurries of snow danced across the ground in freezing white sheets.
This didn't seem to bother the lone figure standing on the southernmost edge of the glacier, though.
Eyes squinting against the morning sun, Ymir the Tusk casually uncorked the stein he clutched in one gloved paw and brought it to his mouth for a swig. It had been two days since he'd begun his trek - two days since the epic bar brawl at the Grouchy Walrus that had seen the end of Markus the Mighty, the self-proclaimed strongest fighter in all his village. Tables had been smashed, glasses had been shattered over heads, and in the end yet another foolish challenger had been laid out on the beer-soaked floor, the patronage toasting the Tuskarr's victory. The ale he gulped down at this moment was a souvenier from the barkeep himself, and Ymir had been more than happy to accept it.
Yet there was one thirst he had failed to quench - the thirst for battle. Markus had been a warm-up, as far as he'd been concerned, and it seemed nowadays that there was nobody left to challenge him, nobody to match him in the arena. The old champions were gone, and all the new blood springing up was impatient and headstrong, with none of the respect for the old ways or appreciation for a hearty scrap. None of them cared for the meaning of the fight anymore - they only bothered to learn the fighting arts in order to boost their egos or seek petty revenge on class bullies or what have you. For a while, Ymir had felt a bit dejected.
But now, as he finished his drink and replaced the cork, his gaze was set on the far horizon, where the vague outline of towns and cities upon rolling hills could be seen through the mist. That, the barkeeper had told him, was Orvance - the same kingdom that saw the great War of the Stars but a year ago, where warriors of untold and unparalleled strength clashed for the fate of the kingdom, and indeed, the entire planet. Admittedly, the betusked brawler knew very little about the nature of stars, other than they served as useful guides on dark nights when a seal hunt had gone disastrously wrong.
But fighting... now, there was a siren call he couldn't refuse.
With a low chuckle, Ymir stepped down from the glacier, in that one movement crossing the borders between the North and Orvance itself. And as he continued his long trek south, the question crossed his mind of what Orvancian ale tasted like.
~Castle Bloodaxe, The Enchanted Forest~
It is a well-known and popular fact that Orcs do not form armies. The word "army" implies the presence of discipline, co-ordination and tactical aptitude that was beyond their simple, ale-addled minds. Ask an Orc to co-ordinate a team of footballers and he'd take one blank look at the blackboard before putting their fist through it, then charging out to piledrive the opposing team into the pitch. A better term for their military gatherings would be "rabble", since despite the numbers they still very much behaved like a crowd of hooligans on the lookout for windows to smash and cars to steal.
This particular rabble, emerging from the forests that surrounded Castle Bloodaxe, thought they were going to have a good time of it. The building they were approaching on looked virtually defenseless - their scouts had reported not a sign of archers on the battlements or guardsmen on the gates, and not even a single trace of a patrol had been detected on the surrounding land. Not one of the greenskins could believe their seemingly-amazing fortune, and had immediately clamored en masse to begin the day's pillaging in style. Had they the brains to remember just whose lands they were invading, then they probably not have been so cocky.
As it was, they had gotten just onto the third verse of their bone-chilling war chant before the portcullis flew open like it had been stabbed up the bum.
"HA'WAAAAAAY THA' LAAAAAADS!"
The poor bastards never saw it coming - the green and orange blur zooming out of the doors moved almost too fast for the eye to track. The front line of goblins was sent flying backwards in an instant, crashing into the burlier Orcs at the back and bowling them over like ninepins. The archers on the left flank immediately lost whatever morale they could claim to have, throwing down their weapons and bolting into the forest screaming. As for the ram-carrying siege trolls, they were so slow on the uptake that by the time they realized just what had happened, half of them were already unconscious from a hefty boot to the skull.
In a matter of minutes, it was all over - hardly a battle so much as a one-sided curbstomping. The rabble was in dismay, half of them in flight and the rest of them either unconscious or groaning from their fractured bones. The goblins were nowhere to be found, the catapults were wrecked shambles and the sole dragon they thought to bring along was tangled among the trees, whimpering in confusion. And amongst the confusion of it all stood the red-haired, axe-wielding barbarian princess who had caused the ruckus in the first place.
As the prone Orcs looked up at her, terrified and bewildered, Barbara Bloodaxe dusted her skirt down and flashed her trademark gap-toothed grin around the scene.
"Sorry te lace ye aal laak that," she called out in her trademark thick accent, "but Aa'm i' a bit o' a pelt. Star Festival's gannin' on doon Orvance whey, and Aa'm clammin' mightily fer a gud ale an' roast far ahint yon fells! Bide a few wee months, an' Aa'll be howway hyem 'afore ye can put a cuddie oop Blackwell Rock!"
And with that, the woman hoisted her axe over one shoulder and sped off into the forest, through a gap in the tress that marked the begginings of the cart trail. The Orcs took one look at her retreating form, hair flying in the wind, and decided that maybe the imp who'd wanted to start a band instead wasn't such a moron after all.
~The Drunken Gryphon, Wensdale~
Tavish is probably in a good mood. The Star Festival is coming round once more, meaning customers would soon be coming in to sample his huge menu of food and drink and, above all, make him huge wodges of cash. The Star People are returning in droves to share technology, recipes and more, and their unique brand of entertainment would inevitably draw in even more people from far and wide. And those people would need feeding, beds to stay in and an opportunity to get utterly smashed whilst shouting at the scrying glass. So yes, he's most likely in a good mood.
So in all the excitement of getting his tavern ready for the big tourist rush, he may not notice one of the floorboards shifting.
"Kero..."
Wednesday, 25 December 2013
Dirkmas 2 Epilogue: Presents
"Hey, bro."
"Yes, Dirk?"
"CHRISTMAAAAAAAAAAAS!"
"Pfffft, I know, I know. Come on, let's go open our presents already~!"
"Race you to open them all first!"
-------
"Hey, Pit! I hope everything's going fine!
"You gave me that ring, so I thought I'd get you something in return... I made it with the help of a couple friends, and I hope you like it...
"And I can't wait to see you again! I promise I'll be there on the spaceship the very day you come back! I love you, Merry Christmas, and say hi to Dirk for me!"
-------
"D'aaaaaw, that's brilliant~!"
"It really is. And look, she got me a third-eye pendant! Just like the one she wears!"
"Aw, that's awesome! Wear it when you go out on dinner dates with her!"
"Sure will! Oh, Dirk, just remembered - you never told me what you were getting Josephine!"
"...Weeeeell..."
-------
"Yo, Josephine,
"I know you;re fond of ridiculously huge or OP guns, so I got you this:
"It's called the Electrodriver. It shoots shurikens and lightning. That is literally all you need to know.
"Have an awesome Christmas, and love you loads!
"Dirky xxx"
-------
"..."
"shut up"
"Pffffft, that's our Dirky!"
"SHUT UP"
"Bahahahahahah~!"
"Yes, Dirk?"
"CHRISTMAAAAAAAAAAAS!"
"Pfffft, I know, I know. Come on, let's go open our presents already~!"
"Race you to open them all first!"
-------
"Hey, Pit! I hope everything's going fine!
"You gave me that ring, so I thought I'd get you something in return... I made it with the help of a couple friends, and I hope you like it...
"And I can't wait to see you again! I promise I'll be there on the spaceship the very day you come back! I love you, Merry Christmas, and say hi to Dirk for me!"
-------
"D'aaaaaw, that's brilliant~!"
"It really is. And look, she got me a third-eye pendant! Just like the one she wears!"
"Aw, that's awesome! Wear it when you go out on dinner dates with her!"
"Sure will! Oh, Dirk, just remembered - you never told me what you were getting Josephine!"
"...Weeeeell..."
-------
"Yo, Josephine,
"I know you;re fond of ridiculously huge or OP guns, so I got you this:
"It's called the Electrodriver. It shoots shurikens and lightning. That is literally all you need to know.
"Have an awesome Christmas, and love you loads!
"Dirky xxx"
-------
"..."
"shut up"
"Pffffft, that's our Dirky!"
"SHUT UP"
"Bahahahahahah~!"
Tuesday, 24 December 2013
Dirkmas 2 Part 2
Last time on Dirkmas...
"Guys," chuckled the angel, "we're going to steal Frosttime.
"And this is how we're gonna do it..."
We now return to your regularly scheduled programme...
-------
Prison Warden Frak was pissed.
It was his default state of being. He'd been pissed when the Dark Angel had been dragged before Her Lady and yelled at, he'd been pissed when he dragged him into the prison level of the ship and threw him in a cell, and right now he was even more pissed thanks to a bottle of Ol Janx Spirit. This was his idea of a good day - fuck all to do but eat and drink, shit and piss, maybe sleep. So there he was, slouched on the break room sofa with a bottle in one hand, a taco in the other and several more bottles scattered about him. This was definitely shaping up to be one of his Best Days Ever.
No, he wasn't fucking going to work! It was Frosttime, for Nibiru's sake! The Independance Feast was coming up, there were medals for his service lying in a dusty desk somewhere and there was still some distilled Hypercider somewhere calling his name! So were some fancy glowy screens he had to watch - who cared? Nobody ever broke out of the cells on their own, because nobody in the universe seemed smart enough to figure out how to break Skaro Magnalocks! So there was no reason to pay attention to the screens, and every reason to get drunk, as he was doing now.
Yes, the Vulturite decided as he took another swig of Ol Janx. This was a fucking brilliant day. And he was, in all senses of the word, pissed beyond belief.
So he didn't notice when the door to the break room broke open and the crowd of former prisoners stormed in. Nor did he react when he was picked up in the claw of an enraged Macra, who passed him to a seething Yujata, who hauled him into the arms of an irate Grey, who flung him into the grip of a fuming Taurian, who dumped him at the feet of a llama holding a soldering iron-
"Caaaaaaaarl!"
...Fuck.
-------
Being a chef on a massive Nibirian cruiser was a constant headache.
Head Provisions Officer Daeg could testify to that. He couldn't tell you the number of personel on board the ship off the top of his head - that was all done with computers now. But at a rough estimate, it was close to a hundred people - officers, engineers, navigators, guards and regular soldiers all thrown together in one great big mass of hungry stomachs. Factor in the number of prisoners that were often taken on board, as well as the differing tastes of everybody on the ship and... well, you had long shifts with little sleep, among other things. The roster for worker shifts on these ships were just insane.
Preparing a single massive meal for everyone, however, was a different matter. It was no longer a case of making sure they had enough of one specific thing for Janitor Blun or whoever - now, it was just a matter of quantity. They had the menu planned out perfectly, and all they had to do was ensure that they would have enough to satisfy everyone who wanted one thing or another. On top of that, some of the prisoners were going to feature heavily in the ingredients - the thought of slicing up a helpless Kaled mutant made Daeg cackle with glee, knowing full well it would be one less mouth to feed. And he had to admit, there was a certain joy in perparing all these lavish meals for Her Lady - it allowed him to exercise his craft as a cook more, knowing full well that the rich food would be appreciated for a long time to come, as was the way with festive meals.
So yes, he was feeling quite good today. So good that he didn't think twice before letting the new ameteur cook in to have a crack at the chocolate pudding. So what if he was a wobbly weed of a fledgeling with no sense of balance and an oddly-derformed beak? It would be good experience for him to prepare the desserts for everyone on board, to experience the rush and clamour of the Independance Day Cooking Spree. Nothing could possibly go wrong at this stage, surely! All was going to plan!
Five minutes later, and the kitchen was a graveyard. Soups and sauces formed a veritable oil slick on the ground, with nobody able to stand on their feet for a second without collapsing in a heap. Meats and vegetables of different sizes, shapes and preparations were pasted onto the walls - how they even got there was still a mystery. Globs of pudding and splats of custard were everywhere, as were the unconcious bodies of one or two cooks who hadn't gotten out of the way in time. And in the middle of it all was Daeg, dripping with cranberry sauce, curled up in a pile of mush that was once stuffing and gently weeping for the state of the universe.
And, outside the door, the trio of elves shed their disguise, hopped off each other's shoulders, giggling like lunatics.
-------
"WHAT IS GOING ON?!" screamed Lady Glacia in her throne room.
It seemed like everything had been going according to plan. The food was being prepared, the prisoners were being watched and everything was on schedule. She'd been looking extremely forward to dining on her hated enemy and killer of her husband, and then returning home in triumph and contentment. So when in all the Seven Continents did things suddenly take a turn down into Shitville?! She'd called Head Provisions Officer Daeg for a status update on the condiments, only to recieve hysterical sobbing and half-gibbered explanations and pleas for mercy instead. And then, when alarms had started blaring, she'd turned on the cameras to see her dinner running amok in the lower levels!
Dropping her face into her palms, the Nibirian let out a humongous sigh of irritation. That's what happens, she decided, when you hire Vulturites. In a sense, they hadn't evolved past the carrion-eating, excrement-flinging days before the Annunaki had arrived - despite their newfound proficiency with technology, they were still unbelievably single-minded, selfish and thick. So it was no wonder that things had hit Space Mexico in such a short time as they did, and in all honesty it had only been a matter of time before somebody cocked up. If only it hadn't been now, with Frosttime looming.
There was only one thing for it. As the reptillian princess lifted her face from her palms and gazed upon the Earth, it's serene glow almost taunting her stress and annoyance, the old adage crept through her mind like a spider on the prowl.
"If you want something done right," she hissed to the universe in general, "you do it yourself."
With a fluid, effortless motion, she lifted herself from her throne and slithered out of the room, her scales making only the tinest scraping noises.
-------
Dirk heaved a massive sigh of relief as he watched the assorted alien prisoners file into the escape pods, one by one. The plan so far had been a success - thanks to the Dalek's schematics, he and the others were able to locate the various services on the ship - kitchen, escape pods, engine room, the works. After much debate, it was decided that the five should split into groups to deal with the three different problems presented - namely, getting the prisoners off the ship, ruining the dinner and dealing with Lady Glacia's forces. Dirk had taken up the first responsibility, using Maisy's comb to open the cell doors and ushering the confused creatures and races out.
It hadn't taken long for them to figure out what was going on, and soon they were rampaging through the corridors in the traditional mob mentality, trampling and killing any unfortunate Vulturites that crossed their path. In fact, many of them were clamouring to simply storm the bridge and take out Lady Glacia in one massive mob, and whilst Dirk was not against that idea as a whole, he reasoned that it'd be better overall if they simply got off the ship. And so here he was, watching as Taurians, Greys, Zygons and more filed into the pods and shuttles, ready to fly home.
It wouldn't be much trouble, he'd been reassured. The Dalek had told him the ship eas in a geo-starionary orbit above Earth, and was within range of all the major star systems, so getting home wouldn't be a problem for these assorted aliens. Dirk briefly wondered where that Dalek was right now, then dismissed the thought. It'd be fine, he reasoned. Those overgrown saltshakers were known for tenacity, if nothing else, and it wasn't like it'd be fretting over his progress at all. No need to contact it or anything - there were more pressing concerns right now.
Turning away from the group, the Dark Angel procured a communicator from his pocket - earlier on, he'd cheekily knocked out a pair of Vulturite guards and pilfered these disc-like objects from their ultility belts. Another one had been handed to Merry and, after some fiddling, the two had managed to sync the devices up so they could keep tabs on each other before going their separate ways. Pressing the button, Dirk lifted the disc to his mouth, looking around to make sure he was alone before speaking.
"Merry? How goes the sabotage? Because I'm done up here, and I'll need you to- UMPH!"
He hadn't looked hard enough.
She'd found him.
-------
"Dirk? Dirk?!"
"...No answer! Oh, no, Merry, I think he's in trouble!"
"Calm down, Maisy! Our job's done - all we gotta do is go back and help him!"
"Well, that goes without saying! Come on, you two!"
And with that, the three elves drop their communicator and dash down the corridor, headed back the way they come. In their haste to aid their friend, none of them notive the service elevator sliding into position in the opposite wall, a pinging noise announcing it's arrival onto the floor. If they had, they might have seen that it had just come up from Floor 0 - the engine room, where the vital machinery that kept the ship moving and afloat in the void of space.
As well as the lone Dalek that emerged, triumph in it's eyestalk.
-------
Sine may not have talked much to anyone else about the invisible monster she and Zeph fought, or "That Awful Thing", as she called it. But she can probably still remember when it first attacked, trying to squeeze the life out of her before the Robot Master swooped in and saved her. She described the experience as being "wrapped in a hot, wet washcloth", a comical expression that did nothing to dampen the threat of death by either crushed bones or suffocation looming over her. In short, the way she'd described it indicated that it probably an extremely unpleasant experience.
Dirk would argue that being in the coils of a Nibirian was worse.
Not that I'd reccomend trying it, he mentally added. The experience was probably what an orange goes through in the juicing machine - a horrid, warm pressure from all sides, completely engulfing his body and limbs and tightening with every second. The angel couldn't move so much as a finger, arms locked to his sides by ten-inch-thick ropes of muscle, unable to even pull the trigger on the laser that was still in one hand or kick out against his captor. Not only were his bones beginning to deform from the pressure, but getting breath of any sort was becoming more and more difficult as his lungs were slowly compressed inwards, depleting his air supply little by little.
As the angel grunted in pain, spots flashing in front of his eyes, the face of Lady Glacia descended ino view. He could hear shouts and screams from somwhere far off - had the prisoners been found by Vulturite guards? He hoped they weren't panicking and stampeding right now, or everything would go to shit.
"I have to admit," she hissed, faced inches from Dirk's, "this is new! I haven't had a prison break on my ship for as long as I can remember, and certaintly not a riot this big! Congratulations on making history, Dirk - too bad you won't live long enough to celebrate it!" And a laugh like icicles on a window pane rattled through the corridor.
At any other time, Dirk would have fired back with a witty retort, or at least a simple "shut the fuck up" or similar. However, on this occasion this wasn't an option - the Nibirian had managed to get a loop of her tail around his mouth, holding it shut to stop him from calling out for help. On top of that, it further diminished his ability to breathe, and what little air he could draw in through his nose wasn't enough to diminish the ringing in his ears. So he had to be content with a defiant glare, even as his face began to rapidly turn blue from lack of oxygen.
"It's a shame that you've made a mess of my schedule like this," the princess continued, running a claw across the angel's exposed cheek tauntingly. "But really, all you've done is delay the feat by a day or so. And to me and my loyal subjects, that's no problem at all. All we have to do is round up those pesky escapees of yours and get them preserved, ready for cooking whilst we clean up your mess and get things ready. And as for you..."
The coils tightened, and Dirk gave a muffled scream as something creaked inside him. A forked tongue slid out from between Glacia's fangs and lapped at her teeth, her eyes glinting maliciously.
"I wonder what raw angel tastes like..."
"LET HIM GO!"
Glacia rolled her eyes in exasperation, turning in the air to face the source of the shout. "Oh, what-?"
And that's when Punchy's fist collided with her face, and Maisy's boot found it's place in her stomach. The combined attack sent the cold-blooded creature sailing backwards, blood trailing from a broken nose as she slammed into the far wall before collapsing in a heap on the floor. At the same time, the coils around Dirk loosened considerably, and the Dark Angel slid out of the coccoon and landed with a thump on his butt, gulping down lungfuls of air like a starving man binging on praline truffles. Merry was instantly by his side, helping him to his feet as the world slowly came back into focus.
"Are you alright, Mr. Dirk?" the Elf was heard to cry out, although Dirk's hearing was still somewhat muffled.
"Yeah, I'll live," gasped Dirk. His innards felt like play-dough after that, and every one of his bones was screaming in pain. But he didn't get to dwell on it for long, because in the next second Glacia had righted herself, tail thrashing like a whip, and the angel had to throw himself to the floor to avoid being smacked in the face it. The Nibirian towered over him, eyes bulging in her head and turning purple with rage, and the three elves backed away from their enemy as panic suddenly seized them.
"I WILL MOUNT YOUR HEADS ON MY MANTLEPIECE!" Glacia shrieked.
"You're welcome to try, fuckface," snarled Dirk, scrambling to his feet.
Hissing, Glacia charged...
...and screamed as a claw caught her across the face, causing her to spin in mid-air and miss Dirk by incles. As she struggled to right herself, undulating like a ribbon in the wind, the Macra that had been among the prisoners lumbered forward, clacking it's pincers and chittering with defiance and anger. Beneath it, Vulturites that had been trying to round up the escapees howled as they were trampled and prodded by it's pointed feet, and other aliens began to bunch up behind the massive crab, uttering their own rebellious cries.
Glacia swivelled to face this new attacker, seething with injured pride. But she wasn't able to make a move before the Taurian charged in, bellowing, and caught her in the stomach with a swinging fist, sending her sliding backwards. The Yujata's laser shot missed her head by a whisker, leaving a seething burn in the wall, but the Grey's telekinatic blast didn't, and the pummled princess teetered from the onslaught, off-balance for a few precious moments as her former captives advanced.
And that's when Dirk seized his chance. With a yell, the dark angel spread his wings and leapt into the air, tackling Glacia around the midsection and sending them both crashing to the floor of the ship. Both of them immediately began tumbling around on the ground, shouting and snarling in a mad struggle, lost in a tangled ball of scales and feathers. Caught off-guard by Dirk's sudden bold assault, the elves and aliens watched from the sidelines, unsure of what to do as their friend and savour respectively duked it out with their opressor, punching and kicking and occasionaly biting.
Glacia's tail suddenly shot up, curling around and around.
Maisy screamed and covered her eyes.
There was a brief symphony of banging and crashing and grunting...
....
...Maisy looked again.
Breathing heavily, but with a triumphant look on his face, Dirk climbed off of the tangled knot that was Glacia and walked over to the elves.
"So," he asked the sea of surprised and bemused faces, "what's next?"
As if on cue, the sound of a massive explosion tore through the ship like thunder, and the entire thing shook like a fresh jelly as a terrible force surged through it. Cries of fright rippled through the crowd of former prisoners as they staggered this way and that, trying to keep their balance on the rocking ship, and Dirk had to dig his Klausium hand into the side of the corridor to stay upright, buckling the metal in his grip. The elves themselves tumbled about like ninepins, screaming as they went, and even the Vulturites around went into a panic, dropping their weapons and scrambling away from the carnage.
And then, just to add even more to the confusion, alarms went off and lights started flashing.
"WHAT THE FLYING FUCK IS GOING ON?!" Dirk screamed above the screaming of the pasengers and blaring of klaxxons. He didn't remember explosions being a part of the sabotage at all! Ruined food and escaped prisoners, yes, but not explosions! Okay, so he'd sent the Dalek down to disable the engines so that the ship couldn't chase after the escape pods, but-
...The Dalek.
The tannoy crackled on.
-------
"This is Dalek Krang of the 20th Skaro Battlefleet, speaking to all inferior life forms aboard the Nibirian vessel.
"The engine of this ship has been detonated, and it is now currently headed on an impact course with the planet Earth. Impact will occur in approximately forty-two Rels, and will destroy a significant amount of the lower levels of the vessel. All re-entry systems have been disabled - heat shields are offline and retro-rockets are incapable of motion. In addition, all landing gear has been sabotaged and will self-destruct if any attempts to engage it are made. Calculated survivor count of impact... zero.
"To summarize... you will all be exterminated!
"Initating Temporal Shift!"
*click*
-------
A horrible silence.
Nobody moved, nobody spoke. The Macra didn't chitter, the Grey didn't hiss, the llamas had stopped bickering. Apart from the screaming of the alarms and the panicked calls of the Vulturites as they lost their minds (as usual), there wasn't a sound. Everyone just sort of... stood there, unable to grasp what was happening, unsure of what to do.
Then Dirk felt a tugging on his chiton, and looked down. Merry was standing next to him, on the verge of breaking down, and the other elves were bunched behind him, also trying not to cry. It was a few horrible, pained seconds before he spoke, voice cracked with emotion.
"We're... we're going to die... aren't we?"
Dirk looked down at the blue eyes, shining with tears. At the faces and eyes and muzzles and god knows what else aimed at him. Some hopefully, some desparingly, some with no trace of emotion at all, some incapable of showing emotion for various reasons. Glacia's angry glare didn't count, because she probably deserved this, in his opinion. At the iron-gray walls that were rapidly becoming a death trap for everyone on board.
And saw nothing. Not a hope. They'd been so close, so close to getting away scott free, and now they were all going to die. All because Dirk had lost enough brain cells to trust a fucking Dalek with something.
But he couldn't bring himself to say it.
I need a miracle...
-------
Somewhere, somehow, his voice was heard.
And Arceus lifted his head and said: Let it be so.
-------
And that's when he felt it.
It was almost the same sensation as it had been on Lapulas - a warmth, starting as a faint glow in his core but spreading out like waves on an ocean. Only this time, as it grew within him from a murmer to a throb to a pulse, it didn't stop. It wasn't a seed this time, it was a well, a fountain that gushed heat and power that filled him like an empty bottle and it was leaking out of his mose and mouth, anywhere it could. But it was coming too fast, it was filling faster than it emptied and sparks were dancing off his fingers, and he thought he heard Merry say something but he seemed so far away-
And then he burst.
The light that filled the corridor was so great everyone had to shield their eyes. Even those who didn't have eyes, like the Quarks. And then came the voice, a voice that boomed loud enough to drown the sirens, but was still the same old cocky irish accent the elves knew.
"Right, then! Now that I'm conviniently a God, let's set about saving your arses! Get to the upper levels, you lot - I'll take care of this!"
A rush of warm wind, a beat of wing. And when the light died down and everyone could see again, Dirk was gone.
After a minute, they decided that standing around made them look rather stupid. And so they turned and headed for the elevators.
-------
The ship wasn't hard to miss. A huge lump of metal, descending from space at breakneck speeds, tends to be quite visible. And in the Manhattan skyline, it looked like a tidal wave of metal and fire, screaming down from the sky towards them. It's glow was conspicuous enough for some people to stop and look up at it, to point it out to each other and stop driving to observe it. The thought that it might impact with their fair city and decimate several square miles of land, as well as crushing them in a fiery inferno, never occured to them.
Many didn't even notice the shining light breaking out of it, swooping around in a circle to disappear into the flames again.
By the time anyone thought to start panicking, the ship was already slowing down in midair. So some didn't bother. Instead they watched, open-mouthed as, with the sound of protesting metal, the great disc began to swerve, changing it's course so that instead of careening headlong towards the city, it was now sort of lazily drifting towards the bay. Okay, sure, it came quite close to skimming the tops of skyscrapers, but after all the stuff the city had been through it would have been more amazing if it didn't.
It didn't so much land in the water as bellyflop. The waves it produced, whilst large, weren't anything to crow about in the grand scheme of things. But for three whole minutes, none of the coast guard or armed forces that moved in could get near for the steam that rose from it. You could have stuck a turkey in it and it would have roasted to perfection.
When they finally got the doors to open, they were very surprised indeed.
-------
"So," mused Dirk as he looked over the hustle and bustle of activity. "What's next?"
"Oh, the others will get home fine," chimed Merry. "The shuttles have enough fuel to get them back to their own galaxies, thanks to those kind military people!"
"And Lady Glacia?" Dirk squinted as he thought he saw the two llamas walk away from the gathering of soldiers and operatives, still bickering.
Punchy snickered behind one meaty fist. "On a one-way pod to Nibiru, with a warrant for her arrest and trial."
Dirk couldn't help but let a grin form on his face. "You sneaky bugger."
"I try."
A pause.
And then Dirk turned to look down on the elves, smiling hugely.
"Right," he cheerily exlaimed. "There's a big pile of presents at home with my name on it, and I've gotta get back in time to open them. So, if you don't mind..."
"Oh, not at all!" Merry's eyes twinkled with delight has he remembered. "We've got to be getting home ourselves - Mr. Kringle will be picking us up soon and taking us back to Lapulas!"
Dirk nodded. "Well, not gonna kep you waiting, then. See you around and all that." And with that, the Dark Angel turned and began the long walk back to-
"Mr. Dirk!"
Dirk paused, looked back and blinked. "Yes, Maisy- Oh."
He blinked again.
Then he knelt down, and Merry and Punchy flinched. But their expressions changed when the angel knelt down and, instead, whispered something into Maisy's ear. Whatever he said, it was enough for the elf to stiffen, and her ears turned a very visible red that surprised the other two. Then, without a word and only a small smile of amusement, Dirk stood up, turned around and resumed his walk homewards.
As he left, Punchy ambled up and tapped Maisy on the shoulder.
"Hey, Maisy. What did he say?"
Maisy turned to him, eyes wide and face like a tomato.
"He... He already has a girlfriend!"
--------
Walking back home, the Party Pavillion looming into view, Dirk looked up to the sky and smiled.
Thanks a bunch, Arceus.
"Guys," chuckled the angel, "we're going to steal Frosttime.
"And this is how we're gonna do it..."
We now return to your regularly scheduled programme...
-------
Prison Warden Frak was pissed.
It was his default state of being. He'd been pissed when the Dark Angel had been dragged before Her Lady and yelled at, he'd been pissed when he dragged him into the prison level of the ship and threw him in a cell, and right now he was even more pissed thanks to a bottle of Ol Janx Spirit. This was his idea of a good day - fuck all to do but eat and drink, shit and piss, maybe sleep. So there he was, slouched on the break room sofa with a bottle in one hand, a taco in the other and several more bottles scattered about him. This was definitely shaping up to be one of his Best Days Ever.
No, he wasn't fucking going to work! It was Frosttime, for Nibiru's sake! The Independance Feast was coming up, there were medals for his service lying in a dusty desk somewhere and there was still some distilled Hypercider somewhere calling his name! So were some fancy glowy screens he had to watch - who cared? Nobody ever broke out of the cells on their own, because nobody in the universe seemed smart enough to figure out how to break Skaro Magnalocks! So there was no reason to pay attention to the screens, and every reason to get drunk, as he was doing now.
Yes, the Vulturite decided as he took another swig of Ol Janx. This was a fucking brilliant day. And he was, in all senses of the word, pissed beyond belief.
So he didn't notice when the door to the break room broke open and the crowd of former prisoners stormed in. Nor did he react when he was picked up in the claw of an enraged Macra, who passed him to a seething Yujata, who hauled him into the arms of an irate Grey, who flung him into the grip of a fuming Taurian, who dumped him at the feet of a llama holding a soldering iron-
"Caaaaaaaarl!"
...Fuck.
-------
Being a chef on a massive Nibirian cruiser was a constant headache.
Head Provisions Officer Daeg could testify to that. He couldn't tell you the number of personel on board the ship off the top of his head - that was all done with computers now. But at a rough estimate, it was close to a hundred people - officers, engineers, navigators, guards and regular soldiers all thrown together in one great big mass of hungry stomachs. Factor in the number of prisoners that were often taken on board, as well as the differing tastes of everybody on the ship and... well, you had long shifts with little sleep, among other things. The roster for worker shifts on these ships were just insane.
Preparing a single massive meal for everyone, however, was a different matter. It was no longer a case of making sure they had enough of one specific thing for Janitor Blun or whoever - now, it was just a matter of quantity. They had the menu planned out perfectly, and all they had to do was ensure that they would have enough to satisfy everyone who wanted one thing or another. On top of that, some of the prisoners were going to feature heavily in the ingredients - the thought of slicing up a helpless Kaled mutant made Daeg cackle with glee, knowing full well it would be one less mouth to feed. And he had to admit, there was a certain joy in perparing all these lavish meals for Her Lady - it allowed him to exercise his craft as a cook more, knowing full well that the rich food would be appreciated for a long time to come, as was the way with festive meals.
So yes, he was feeling quite good today. So good that he didn't think twice before letting the new ameteur cook in to have a crack at the chocolate pudding. So what if he was a wobbly weed of a fledgeling with no sense of balance and an oddly-derformed beak? It would be good experience for him to prepare the desserts for everyone on board, to experience the rush and clamour of the Independance Day Cooking Spree. Nothing could possibly go wrong at this stage, surely! All was going to plan!
Five minutes later, and the kitchen was a graveyard. Soups and sauces formed a veritable oil slick on the ground, with nobody able to stand on their feet for a second without collapsing in a heap. Meats and vegetables of different sizes, shapes and preparations were pasted onto the walls - how they even got there was still a mystery. Globs of pudding and splats of custard were everywhere, as were the unconcious bodies of one or two cooks who hadn't gotten out of the way in time. And in the middle of it all was Daeg, dripping with cranberry sauce, curled up in a pile of mush that was once stuffing and gently weeping for the state of the universe.
And, outside the door, the trio of elves shed their disguise, hopped off each other's shoulders, giggling like lunatics.
-------
"WHAT IS GOING ON?!" screamed Lady Glacia in her throne room.
It seemed like everything had been going according to plan. The food was being prepared, the prisoners were being watched and everything was on schedule. She'd been looking extremely forward to dining on her hated enemy and killer of her husband, and then returning home in triumph and contentment. So when in all the Seven Continents did things suddenly take a turn down into Shitville?! She'd called Head Provisions Officer Daeg for a status update on the condiments, only to recieve hysterical sobbing and half-gibbered explanations and pleas for mercy instead. And then, when alarms had started blaring, she'd turned on the cameras to see her dinner running amok in the lower levels!
Dropping her face into her palms, the Nibirian let out a humongous sigh of irritation. That's what happens, she decided, when you hire Vulturites. In a sense, they hadn't evolved past the carrion-eating, excrement-flinging days before the Annunaki had arrived - despite their newfound proficiency with technology, they were still unbelievably single-minded, selfish and thick. So it was no wonder that things had hit Space Mexico in such a short time as they did, and in all honesty it had only been a matter of time before somebody cocked up. If only it hadn't been now, with Frosttime looming.
There was only one thing for it. As the reptillian princess lifted her face from her palms and gazed upon the Earth, it's serene glow almost taunting her stress and annoyance, the old adage crept through her mind like a spider on the prowl.
"If you want something done right," she hissed to the universe in general, "you do it yourself."
With a fluid, effortless motion, she lifted herself from her throne and slithered out of the room, her scales making only the tinest scraping noises.
-------
Dirk heaved a massive sigh of relief as he watched the assorted alien prisoners file into the escape pods, one by one. The plan so far had been a success - thanks to the Dalek's schematics, he and the others were able to locate the various services on the ship - kitchen, escape pods, engine room, the works. After much debate, it was decided that the five should split into groups to deal with the three different problems presented - namely, getting the prisoners off the ship, ruining the dinner and dealing with Lady Glacia's forces. Dirk had taken up the first responsibility, using Maisy's comb to open the cell doors and ushering the confused creatures and races out.
It hadn't taken long for them to figure out what was going on, and soon they were rampaging through the corridors in the traditional mob mentality, trampling and killing any unfortunate Vulturites that crossed their path. In fact, many of them were clamouring to simply storm the bridge and take out Lady Glacia in one massive mob, and whilst Dirk was not against that idea as a whole, he reasoned that it'd be better overall if they simply got off the ship. And so here he was, watching as Taurians, Greys, Zygons and more filed into the pods and shuttles, ready to fly home.
It wouldn't be much trouble, he'd been reassured. The Dalek had told him the ship eas in a geo-starionary orbit above Earth, and was within range of all the major star systems, so getting home wouldn't be a problem for these assorted aliens. Dirk briefly wondered where that Dalek was right now, then dismissed the thought. It'd be fine, he reasoned. Those overgrown saltshakers were known for tenacity, if nothing else, and it wasn't like it'd be fretting over his progress at all. No need to contact it or anything - there were more pressing concerns right now.
Turning away from the group, the Dark Angel procured a communicator from his pocket - earlier on, he'd cheekily knocked out a pair of Vulturite guards and pilfered these disc-like objects from their ultility belts. Another one had been handed to Merry and, after some fiddling, the two had managed to sync the devices up so they could keep tabs on each other before going their separate ways. Pressing the button, Dirk lifted the disc to his mouth, looking around to make sure he was alone before speaking.
"Merry? How goes the sabotage? Because I'm done up here, and I'll need you to- UMPH!"
He hadn't looked hard enough.
She'd found him.
-------
"Dirk? Dirk?!"
"...No answer! Oh, no, Merry, I think he's in trouble!"
"Calm down, Maisy! Our job's done - all we gotta do is go back and help him!"
"Well, that goes without saying! Come on, you two!"
And with that, the three elves drop their communicator and dash down the corridor, headed back the way they come. In their haste to aid their friend, none of them notive the service elevator sliding into position in the opposite wall, a pinging noise announcing it's arrival onto the floor. If they had, they might have seen that it had just come up from Floor 0 - the engine room, where the vital machinery that kept the ship moving and afloat in the void of space.
As well as the lone Dalek that emerged, triumph in it's eyestalk.
-------
Sine may not have talked much to anyone else about the invisible monster she and Zeph fought, or "That Awful Thing", as she called it. But she can probably still remember when it first attacked, trying to squeeze the life out of her before the Robot Master swooped in and saved her. She described the experience as being "wrapped in a hot, wet washcloth", a comical expression that did nothing to dampen the threat of death by either crushed bones or suffocation looming over her. In short, the way she'd described it indicated that it probably an extremely unpleasant experience.
Dirk would argue that being in the coils of a Nibirian was worse.
Not that I'd reccomend trying it, he mentally added. The experience was probably what an orange goes through in the juicing machine - a horrid, warm pressure from all sides, completely engulfing his body and limbs and tightening with every second. The angel couldn't move so much as a finger, arms locked to his sides by ten-inch-thick ropes of muscle, unable to even pull the trigger on the laser that was still in one hand or kick out against his captor. Not only were his bones beginning to deform from the pressure, but getting breath of any sort was becoming more and more difficult as his lungs were slowly compressed inwards, depleting his air supply little by little.
As the angel grunted in pain, spots flashing in front of his eyes, the face of Lady Glacia descended ino view. He could hear shouts and screams from somwhere far off - had the prisoners been found by Vulturite guards? He hoped they weren't panicking and stampeding right now, or everything would go to shit.
"I have to admit," she hissed, faced inches from Dirk's, "this is new! I haven't had a prison break on my ship for as long as I can remember, and certaintly not a riot this big! Congratulations on making history, Dirk - too bad you won't live long enough to celebrate it!" And a laugh like icicles on a window pane rattled through the corridor.
At any other time, Dirk would have fired back with a witty retort, or at least a simple "shut the fuck up" or similar. However, on this occasion this wasn't an option - the Nibirian had managed to get a loop of her tail around his mouth, holding it shut to stop him from calling out for help. On top of that, it further diminished his ability to breathe, and what little air he could draw in through his nose wasn't enough to diminish the ringing in his ears. So he had to be content with a defiant glare, even as his face began to rapidly turn blue from lack of oxygen.
"It's a shame that you've made a mess of my schedule like this," the princess continued, running a claw across the angel's exposed cheek tauntingly. "But really, all you've done is delay the feat by a day or so. And to me and my loyal subjects, that's no problem at all. All we have to do is round up those pesky escapees of yours and get them preserved, ready for cooking whilst we clean up your mess and get things ready. And as for you..."
The coils tightened, and Dirk gave a muffled scream as something creaked inside him. A forked tongue slid out from between Glacia's fangs and lapped at her teeth, her eyes glinting maliciously.
"I wonder what raw angel tastes like..."
"LET HIM GO!"
Glacia rolled her eyes in exasperation, turning in the air to face the source of the shout. "Oh, what-?"
And that's when Punchy's fist collided with her face, and Maisy's boot found it's place in her stomach. The combined attack sent the cold-blooded creature sailing backwards, blood trailing from a broken nose as she slammed into the far wall before collapsing in a heap on the floor. At the same time, the coils around Dirk loosened considerably, and the Dark Angel slid out of the coccoon and landed with a thump on his butt, gulping down lungfuls of air like a starving man binging on praline truffles. Merry was instantly by his side, helping him to his feet as the world slowly came back into focus.
"Are you alright, Mr. Dirk?" the Elf was heard to cry out, although Dirk's hearing was still somewhat muffled.
"Yeah, I'll live," gasped Dirk. His innards felt like play-dough after that, and every one of his bones was screaming in pain. But he didn't get to dwell on it for long, because in the next second Glacia had righted herself, tail thrashing like a whip, and the angel had to throw himself to the floor to avoid being smacked in the face it. The Nibirian towered over him, eyes bulging in her head and turning purple with rage, and the three elves backed away from their enemy as panic suddenly seized them.
"I WILL MOUNT YOUR HEADS ON MY MANTLEPIECE!" Glacia shrieked.
"You're welcome to try, fuckface," snarled Dirk, scrambling to his feet.
Hissing, Glacia charged...
...and screamed as a claw caught her across the face, causing her to spin in mid-air and miss Dirk by incles. As she struggled to right herself, undulating like a ribbon in the wind, the Macra that had been among the prisoners lumbered forward, clacking it's pincers and chittering with defiance and anger. Beneath it, Vulturites that had been trying to round up the escapees howled as they were trampled and prodded by it's pointed feet, and other aliens began to bunch up behind the massive crab, uttering their own rebellious cries.
Glacia swivelled to face this new attacker, seething with injured pride. But she wasn't able to make a move before the Taurian charged in, bellowing, and caught her in the stomach with a swinging fist, sending her sliding backwards. The Yujata's laser shot missed her head by a whisker, leaving a seething burn in the wall, but the Grey's telekinatic blast didn't, and the pummled princess teetered from the onslaught, off-balance for a few precious moments as her former captives advanced.
And that's when Dirk seized his chance. With a yell, the dark angel spread his wings and leapt into the air, tackling Glacia around the midsection and sending them both crashing to the floor of the ship. Both of them immediately began tumbling around on the ground, shouting and snarling in a mad struggle, lost in a tangled ball of scales and feathers. Caught off-guard by Dirk's sudden bold assault, the elves and aliens watched from the sidelines, unsure of what to do as their friend and savour respectively duked it out with their opressor, punching and kicking and occasionaly biting.
Glacia's tail suddenly shot up, curling around and around.
Maisy screamed and covered her eyes.
There was a brief symphony of banging and crashing and grunting...
....
...Maisy looked again.
Breathing heavily, but with a triumphant look on his face, Dirk climbed off of the tangled knot that was Glacia and walked over to the elves.
"So," he asked the sea of surprised and bemused faces, "what's next?"
As if on cue, the sound of a massive explosion tore through the ship like thunder, and the entire thing shook like a fresh jelly as a terrible force surged through it. Cries of fright rippled through the crowd of former prisoners as they staggered this way and that, trying to keep their balance on the rocking ship, and Dirk had to dig his Klausium hand into the side of the corridor to stay upright, buckling the metal in his grip. The elves themselves tumbled about like ninepins, screaming as they went, and even the Vulturites around went into a panic, dropping their weapons and scrambling away from the carnage.
And then, just to add even more to the confusion, alarms went off and lights started flashing.
"WHAT THE FLYING FUCK IS GOING ON?!" Dirk screamed above the screaming of the pasengers and blaring of klaxxons. He didn't remember explosions being a part of the sabotage at all! Ruined food and escaped prisoners, yes, but not explosions! Okay, so he'd sent the Dalek down to disable the engines so that the ship couldn't chase after the escape pods, but-
...The Dalek.
The tannoy crackled on.
-------
"This is Dalek Krang of the 20th Skaro Battlefleet, speaking to all inferior life forms aboard the Nibirian vessel.
"The engine of this ship has been detonated, and it is now currently headed on an impact course with the planet Earth. Impact will occur in approximately forty-two Rels, and will destroy a significant amount of the lower levels of the vessel. All re-entry systems have been disabled - heat shields are offline and retro-rockets are incapable of motion. In addition, all landing gear has been sabotaged and will self-destruct if any attempts to engage it are made. Calculated survivor count of impact... zero.
"To summarize... you will all be exterminated!
"Initating Temporal Shift!"
*click*
-------
A horrible silence.
Nobody moved, nobody spoke. The Macra didn't chitter, the Grey didn't hiss, the llamas had stopped bickering. Apart from the screaming of the alarms and the panicked calls of the Vulturites as they lost their minds (as usual), there wasn't a sound. Everyone just sort of... stood there, unable to grasp what was happening, unsure of what to do.
Then Dirk felt a tugging on his chiton, and looked down. Merry was standing next to him, on the verge of breaking down, and the other elves were bunched behind him, also trying not to cry. It was a few horrible, pained seconds before he spoke, voice cracked with emotion.
"We're... we're going to die... aren't we?"
Dirk looked down at the blue eyes, shining with tears. At the faces and eyes and muzzles and god knows what else aimed at him. Some hopefully, some desparingly, some with no trace of emotion at all, some incapable of showing emotion for various reasons. Glacia's angry glare didn't count, because she probably deserved this, in his opinion. At the iron-gray walls that were rapidly becoming a death trap for everyone on board.
And saw nothing. Not a hope. They'd been so close, so close to getting away scott free, and now they were all going to die. All because Dirk had lost enough brain cells to trust a fucking Dalek with something.
But he couldn't bring himself to say it.
I need a miracle...
-------
Somewhere, somehow, his voice was heard.
And Arceus lifted his head and said: Let it be so.
-------
And that's when he felt it.
It was almost the same sensation as it had been on Lapulas - a warmth, starting as a faint glow in his core but spreading out like waves on an ocean. Only this time, as it grew within him from a murmer to a throb to a pulse, it didn't stop. It wasn't a seed this time, it was a well, a fountain that gushed heat and power that filled him like an empty bottle and it was leaking out of his mose and mouth, anywhere it could. But it was coming too fast, it was filling faster than it emptied and sparks were dancing off his fingers, and he thought he heard Merry say something but he seemed so far away-
And then he burst.
The light that filled the corridor was so great everyone had to shield their eyes. Even those who didn't have eyes, like the Quarks. And then came the voice, a voice that boomed loud enough to drown the sirens, but was still the same old cocky irish accent the elves knew.
"Right, then! Now that I'm conviniently a God, let's set about saving your arses! Get to the upper levels, you lot - I'll take care of this!"
A rush of warm wind, a beat of wing. And when the light died down and everyone could see again, Dirk was gone.
After a minute, they decided that standing around made them look rather stupid. And so they turned and headed for the elevators.
-------
The ship wasn't hard to miss. A huge lump of metal, descending from space at breakneck speeds, tends to be quite visible. And in the Manhattan skyline, it looked like a tidal wave of metal and fire, screaming down from the sky towards them. It's glow was conspicuous enough for some people to stop and look up at it, to point it out to each other and stop driving to observe it. The thought that it might impact with their fair city and decimate several square miles of land, as well as crushing them in a fiery inferno, never occured to them.
Many didn't even notice the shining light breaking out of it, swooping around in a circle to disappear into the flames again.
By the time anyone thought to start panicking, the ship was already slowing down in midair. So some didn't bother. Instead they watched, open-mouthed as, with the sound of protesting metal, the great disc began to swerve, changing it's course so that instead of careening headlong towards the city, it was now sort of lazily drifting towards the bay. Okay, sure, it came quite close to skimming the tops of skyscrapers, but after all the stuff the city had been through it would have been more amazing if it didn't.
It didn't so much land in the water as bellyflop. The waves it produced, whilst large, weren't anything to crow about in the grand scheme of things. But for three whole minutes, none of the coast guard or armed forces that moved in could get near for the steam that rose from it. You could have stuck a turkey in it and it would have roasted to perfection.
When they finally got the doors to open, they were very surprised indeed.
-------
"So," mused Dirk as he looked over the hustle and bustle of activity. "What's next?"
"Oh, the others will get home fine," chimed Merry. "The shuttles have enough fuel to get them back to their own galaxies, thanks to those kind military people!"
"And Lady Glacia?" Dirk squinted as he thought he saw the two llamas walk away from the gathering of soldiers and operatives, still bickering.
Punchy snickered behind one meaty fist. "On a one-way pod to Nibiru, with a warrant for her arrest and trial."
Dirk couldn't help but let a grin form on his face. "You sneaky bugger."
"I try."
A pause.
And then Dirk turned to look down on the elves, smiling hugely.
"Right," he cheerily exlaimed. "There's a big pile of presents at home with my name on it, and I've gotta get back in time to open them. So, if you don't mind..."
"Oh, not at all!" Merry's eyes twinkled with delight has he remembered. "We've got to be getting home ourselves - Mr. Kringle will be picking us up soon and taking us back to Lapulas!"
Dirk nodded. "Well, not gonna kep you waiting, then. See you around and all that." And with that, the Dark Angel turned and began the long walk back to-
"Mr. Dirk!"
Dirk paused, looked back and blinked. "Yes, Maisy- Oh."
He blinked again.
Then he knelt down, and Merry and Punchy flinched. But their expressions changed when the angel knelt down and, instead, whispered something into Maisy's ear. Whatever he said, it was enough for the elf to stiffen, and her ears turned a very visible red that surprised the other two. Then, without a word and only a small smile of amusement, Dirk stood up, turned around and resumed his walk homewards.
As he left, Punchy ambled up and tapped Maisy on the shoulder.
"Hey, Maisy. What did he say?"
Maisy turned to him, eyes wide and face like a tomato.
"He... He already has a girlfriend!"
--------
Walking back home, the Party Pavillion looming into view, Dirk looked up to the sky and smiled.
Thanks a bunch, Arceus.
~ YOU HAVE BEEN READING~
DIRKMAS 2: This Time It's Personal
A Zoofights Roleplay Side-Story
Inspired by Doctor Who, Dragon Ball Z Abridged and Some Other Shit
Written by Steel Komodo
~WITH THE VOICE TALENTS OF~
ANTONIO DEL RIO as Dirk Angelos
ELIJAH WOOD as Merry Elf
JOHN C. REILY as Punchy Elf
KAT STEEL as Maisy Elf
ANNE HATHAWAY as Lady Glacia
JIM CUMMINGS as Commander Varn the Vulturite
FRANK WELKER as the Macra, the Predator and the Grey
JASON STEELE as Paul and Carl the Llamas
and introducing NICHOLAS BRIGGS as the voice of Dalek Krang
and DEIMOS THE TAURIAN as himself
~FEATURING THE FOLLOWING MUSIC~
"Dare" by Stan Bush
"The Daleks" by Murray Gold
"Here Comes Trouble" from Banjo-Tooie by Grant Kirkhope
"The A-Team Theme" by Mike Post, Pete Carpenter & The Daniel Caine Orchestra
"Crisis" from Dragon Ball Z: Budokai Tenkaichi 2 by Takanori Arima
"The Long Song" by Murray Gold
"O Come All Ye Faithful" by Twisted Sister
"Party Hard" by Andrew WK
~ THANKS FOR READING!~
~MERRY CHRISTMAS!~
Thursday, 19 December 2013
Dirkmas 2 Part 1
Universe ZF-001
Sol System, Milky Way Galaxy
Earth Date 2013, December 24th 23:30
The navigator was very nervous indeed.
This was something of a problem, for two reasons. Firstly, he was supposed to be guiding the spaceship on it's present course, and in this profession being nervous was likely to result in catastrophe. Secondly, he was a Vulturite, a native of Nibiru and species famed for brutality, depravity and various other unpleasant traits. They weren't supposed to be nervous, or even afraid of anything that the universe could throw at them - not even such wonderful threats as the Daleks or the Martians would make them bat an eyelid. Anything a race could do, a Vulturite would do better and then brag about it to his next door neighbour.
And yet this one was trembling in his seat, bile in his throat as his eyes darted back and forth across the screen, trying to focus on the information readouts and so on. His fingers twitched as he tapped away at on-screen buttons and dials, and a fine layer of sweat stood out on his feathered forehead. A sense of ominous dread was sitting in his chest like a block of ice, one that kep growing with every passing minute - most likely to do with the nature of the mission that he was undertaking, as well as the current destination he was guiding the ship towards. Whilst he was not a person to speak his mind, a quality that was probably instrumental in getting the job in the first place, he was more than ready to admit by now that he was ready to soil himself, had he not already done so twice.
For what seemed like the thousandth time that trip, he glanced over his wiry shoulder to observe the arrangement behind him. Most of the ship's command bridge was in shadow, as it's occupant was quite particular about light levels, so he could barely make out the outline of the throne and the person sitting in it. What little he could see, however, made him shudder - a large, heaped mass of something that lay about the footwell of the seat, catching what little light there was in periodic glints and sparkles and occasionally shifted with a dry rustling noise. Swallowing audibly, the Vulturite turned back to the screen, trying hard to look as though he hadn't lost track of his work and was just minding his own business.
Unfortunately, he tried too hard.
"What a beatifiul planet," came a silken purr, and the navigator's down feathers stood on end. "So much more colourful than home."
Too late did the Vulturite hear the scraping of scale on metal, and then something cold, dry and strong looped twice around his body and yanked him from his seat too fast for him to even cry out. Flailing madly for a moment in his panic, the navigator found himself drawn into the shadows towards the throne, then swung around to face the great window that made up an entire wall of the room and yawned outwards into space. His thin, dry eyes blinked once as he took in the view presented before him - a great orb of blue and green, frosted with swirls of white clouds and slowly growing larger within the window frame, filling the room with a dull glow.
Then he tensed as a claw, thin as a razor, drew itself along the side of his face. There was breath in his ear, and he winced at the icy chill of it.
"Tell me, navigator," came the voice. "What do they call this planet? Ee-Yarth?" The syllables of the last word came thickly, as if they were too big for the mouth forming them, but that tiny detail did noting to reassure the navigator, who was now aware that everyone else in the room was watching him. Most likely they were as frightened as he was. Some colleagues.
The Vulturite gulped. "I... I believe it's pronounced 'Earth', your grace," he croaked, well aware of how dry the inside of his beak was.
A frustrated huff blew bast his ear. "Really? But it has an 'A' in it. Oh, well," hissed the speaker, shifting in her seat a little, "I shall just keep on calling it Ee-Yarth anyway. Shan't I?"
"Y-y-yes, your grace." The navigator realised he was nodding furiously out of reflex, and managed to stop himself.
"And how much longer until we breach the atmosphere?" The claw had stopped at his neck. Not good...
"In ab-b-bout eleven Rels, your grace."
"Perfect."
And then there was a twist and a jerk, and the world span crazily for a brief moment before the unfortunate hand-for-hire impacted beak-first with his own console screen, squawking in pain as his body crumpled and slumped to the ground. Through vision blurred by his latest concussion, he espied a blue glint sliding back into the shadows, and reflexively scrabbled out of the prone position, head swimming with terror and possible brain damage as he returned to his station. Hunching over his screen, he heard a giggle from the corner of his ear, and grimaced.
"My dear," came the voice, low and dangerous. "Your unfortunate death shall soon be avenged. This Ee-yarth is soon about to have a new name..."
A scrape of claws on metal. A glint of fangs.
"Open buffet."
-------
-------
--------
'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even-
"Fucking hell..."
...alright, with one exception. Dirk Angelos couldn't sleep.
And who could blame him? It was Christmas. Christmas! One of the greatest times of year in the history of anything! It had everything anyone could ever ask for - presents, food, presents, chocolate, presents and getting together with everyone you care about. Also, presents. Can't ever go wrong with any holiday that results in free presents, usually! Plus, it was yet another in one of the dark angel's long list of excuses to get drunk, and that was never a bad thing.
So yeah, Christmas. Which was why, at half-past eleven at night on Christmas Eve, Dirk Angelos was sitting in the shark tank of the Party Pavillion, a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand in the hopes of working up enough tiredness to get to sleep. He'd already had a can of cheap cider as a nightcap before going to bed, but it clearly hadn't worked out very well, because he was still awake when the clock rolled around to eleven at night. So with a sigh, and moving carefully to avoid disturbing his brother, he'd pottered down to solve the problem in the only way he knew how. With lots of alcohol.
Sipping from the bottle, the Dark Angel watched the sharks lazily swim in a half-awake stupor above him. The tank had suffered some losses over time - one or two sharks had passed away of old age, whilst others ended up being caught in the jaws of their larger comrades. But thanks to Pit being a billionaire and Dirk himself slowly becoming... well, a thousandare at least, buying replacements hadn't been a problem, and the tank had managed to remain stocked at a decent level. The most persistant relative had been the goblin shark, who's reputation for dunce behaviour lingered even now as he tried to swim through the glass in his sleep.
Sharks were far from Dirk's mind at the moment, however, as he glanced over his shoulder into the darkness of the living room. Beneath the shady branches of the Christmas tree glinted piles of wrapped packages, their cartoony santas and reindeers taunting the young author with the mystery of what cold possibly be lying beneath them. It brought a smile to his face to know that at least some, if not all, of the bargoers had been kind enough to send a package over, and that he had returned the favour by obtaining equally-lavish presents for them all.
Especially for Josephine.
He couldn't wait for Josephine to see what her present was.
A grin now plastered on his face, he turned back to the shark tank, lifted the Jack to his mouth and was promptly smacked in the back of a head with a nightstick.
-------
The Vulturite agent watched as his target slumped soundlessly to the floor, the beverage in his hand spilling onto the carpet. The resultant stains in the carpet would be more than proof of what had occured, of course, but by the time anything could be done it would be too late. The Lady's orders would be carried out to the letter. The celebrations would go as planned.
Kneeling down, the masked bird creature hooked both arms under the unconcious angel's body and heaved him up off the floor, slinging him over one shoulder. Barely registering the weight of his captive, he reached into one of his pockets with a free hand and produced a disc-like device from it, just large enough to fit within his claw-like hand and consisting mostly of a large button. Lifting the device to his beak, the Vulturite clicked the button down, a green light flashing as he did so, and waited patiently for a few seconds.
It isn't long before a static-laden confirmation comes from the speaker on the back of the communicator.
"This is Command Bridge to Scout Seven. Please report."
"Scout Seven to Command Bridge," hissed the Vulturite, keeping his voice as low as possible in order to avoid awakening anyone else in the house. "The target has been captured, as ordered, and I am awaiting transport back to the mothership."
"Confirmed," came the reply. "Preparing Transmat to recieve you and your captive. Stand by for transportation in five Nanorels."
"Confirmed."
Job done, Scout Seven pocketed the communicator and patiently wated for a few seconds. And he doesn't wait long - soon, the Vulturite was engulfed by a kind of yellowish light that seems to radiate from around him and fill the room with it's glow.
And when it dissapates, he is gone.
So is Dirk.
Only the sharks have witnessed this. And, being sharks, they have no idea what to do about it.
-------
Commander Varn wished, for the umpteenth time, that he didn't have to enter the throne room.
Really, nobody did. That was kind of why the rota was in place - so people could take turns to stammer out the latest news to Her Grace. But it didn't really work out, at least not in Varn's opinion, mostly because everyone was frightened of the Lady anyway. And small wonder - the poor navigator was still in the medical bay having his neck seen to for a bad case of wiplash. Just because Vulturites would work for anyone if the pay was good enough, didn't mean they have to enjoy it, and nobody on this ship really enjoyed working for a fickle, capricious female who would casually kill someone just for ruffling her dress.
But then again, they didn't really have that much of a choice. There was news to be told, and the punishment for keeping secrets... well, let's just say the last crew member who kept vital information hushed up had to be shampooed out of the carpet. And it cost a fortune.
Besides, he was already walking in. No point in complaining now.
"Your Grace?"
Varn braced himself, but the chair didn't swivel round - she was obviously more interested in her view of the planet below. He didn't know wherever to roll his eyes in exapseration or be extremely thankful for it.
"Well?" came a strident retort, cutting through the air like a knife. The Commander winced, but tried to keep his composure, standing tall and straight as an officer of his rank should. .
"The last of the marked targets has been captured," he croaked out. "Scout Seven is returning with him even as we speak."
"Excellent." Somewhere, in the darkness, a tail twitched. "Everything is coming together, all is on schedule and revenge is about to be served. Quite, literally, I might add," finished the figure with a dark chuckle. "Oh, but if only I could decide on what garnish..."
This remark was not conductive to Varn's constitution at all. In fact, despite the facade of professionalism he was keeping up, beads of sweat were starting to form on his feathered temple, tricking down the side of his face and neck and into the collar of his shirt. He suppressed the species instinct to wet himself - washing it out of expensive hypersilk like this was pure murder even when he didn't have to pay ridiculous prizes to use the communal washing machines.
He cleared his throat and continued as best he could. "Your Grace, Scout Seven is enquiring as to what to do with the prisoner. I understand he is of particular interest to you, among all the-"
"You have no idea, Commander Varn." The speaker's voice was dangerously low, tinged with a sort of delicate, knife-like hissing. The Vulturite's ears shrank down as the scrape of claw on steel came once more, like nails on a chalkboard.
"So... what is to be done? Is he to be put in a cell with the- AWK!"
A strong coil had fastened itself around the commander's neck before he could finish, and the next minute he'd been dragged towards the throne as it swiveled around like a ballet dancer that had been stung in the bottom. Eyes like burning coals glared at him with a maniacal hatred, the sort that comes from letting petty grievance stew for far too long. Fangs like polished marble glinted viciously. A forked tongue lashed the air.
"You blithering birdbrain. Bring him straight to me, I said, and he will be brought to me! I want to get a good look at the man who slaughtered my husband before I deal with him, so I can see the fear on his face! And I will not miss that opportunity because you let a direct order slip through that feather duster you call a head! Now bring him to me! Is that clear?!"
Varn's voice was a squeak of terror and asphyxiation. "Yes, your Grace."
And then the work span, and he was on his back at the door, eyes rolling in his head as he fought to get his breath back.
"Now, get out of my sight," snarled her Grace, and the poor Vulturite was quick to oblige.
Once past the door, he was most relieved by the person who came around the corner. Quickly fixing his uniform so as to avoid awkward questions, he did his best to put his Lady's grace out of his mind for now. She'd be appeased, soon enough - and a lot, if the new arrival was any indication.
"Ah, Scout Seven. Just who I was looking for!"
-------
At first, as Dirk came to, he thought he was in bed.
This was not a wholly incorrect assumption to make. After all, he had apparently transitioned from drinking Jack at the shark tank to a vertical position, wrapped up in something warm and soft. So it was natural of him to assume that he'd simply fallen unconcious from all the alcohol and that Pit had simply found him and carried him to bed. Or that maybe he'd crawled back to his comfy covers himself and simply forgot about making the journey there. Easy explanation.
So imagine his surprise when his sheets unfurled and dumped him onto the floor.
"OW! Fucking hell!" he howled as he curled on the ground, now completely wide awake, hands instinctively curling up around his stomach and chest. He was quite sure that some ribs had been bruised from that particular drop - not only had he fallen quite a distance, but the floor he'd landed on had been surprisingly hard, for something that was supposed to be just plain old polished floorboards. He was probably gonna have to talk to Pit about getting a carpet to-
Wait.
He blinked, now registering the steely chill of the surface against his skin. And now, come to think of it, he was sure he could hear some kind of electronic instrument humming away in the distance - one that didn't sound like an automatic shark feeder built by Wes Weasley. His vision was still blurry, mostly from what little whiskey was still sloshing around up there, but the outlines forming in from of him did not look much like the cosy objects in his room, but instead the clinical grey walls and computer banks of... something else. He certainly didn't remember asking for a supercomputer to put into his-
This wasn't his room.
"Well, well," purred a voice above him. "Handsome figure, aren't you, Dirk?"
At the sound of the hissing voice, like a gas main intent on murder, Dirk made the mistake of looking up.
"It's a shame you're not as tall as I imagined," the thing continued as it slithered down into the command throne, scales flashing. "But we all know the best stories have a little lie in them, don't we?"
Dirk blinked again, trying to figure out why he was on a spaceship being spoken down to by a giant snake-woman. Had he really hit the Christmas Jack that hard?
"Um, no offence," he tried, mouth feeling full of fluff. "But who the fuck are you?"
"You will watch your language in the presence of-!" screeched a voice from the shadows, and Dirk almost jumped out of his skin. But at the same time, he found his hackles rising with an in-bred genetic hatred - the speaker had the grackled, throaty tones of a-
"Oh, hush, Commander Varn," the snake-thing responded, idly scraping it's talons along the arm of the throne. "It is my fault, after all - forgot to introduce myself, in all this excitement." It's eyes gazed down at Dirk with a sort of idle detatchment, as a lion might look upon an ant, and the angel couldn't help but shudder as a chill he couldn't explain ran down his spine. There was just something about this thing that didn't sit well with him at all.
"My name," it continued, with a thin sort of smile, "is Lady Glacia. Princess of the Seventh Continent, Daughter of Nibiru and, as of now, your master."
Nibiru. That was enough to get Dirk interested - no, more than interested, fired up. Ever since the incident last Christmas, where he fought in mortal combat with a rather genocidal Annunaki, the mere mention of the planet's name was enough to put the dark angel on edge. And now here he was, a prisoner of yet another megalomaniacal somebody from that same planet! With a surge of energy born of righteous annoyance he staggered to his feet, clenching his fists, anger etched across his face as he faced down his serpentine enemy.
"If you're looking to start a fight," he snarled, wings twitching, "then bring it, bitch. I took down Fyros, and I'll just as easily-"
To his surprise, the Nibirian laughed. It was oddly musical and chiming, in stark contrast to the thin speech she'd used to address him, and that only served to derail his train of thought and make his down feathers rise in reflexive fear. And in the shadows, all around him, he was quite certain that others were laughing at him as well, in cackling tones that echoes around the room like a flock of birds trapped in a storm drain. Their mere presence unnerved him even further - he swore he could remember what they were...
"Bless you, no!" exlaimed Glacia as she shifted in her throne, her coils sliding along the floor in great folds. "Fighting is the last thing I want! Messy business, hat is - never gets you anywhere!"
"But..." Dirk lowered his arms, confused. "Then why yank me out of my house like that? What's the point?"
"The point," came the retort, low and icy, "is that I have a score to settle with you, Dirk Angelos. A score that began a year ago, on the surface of the tiny yet powerful living planet of Lauplas. A score that, in a few Macrorels' time, I shall settle once and for all, as befitting of my status as a Princess of the Nibirian race. You will pay," Glacia hissed, lips drawn back to expose cruel fangs, "for the callous muder of my husband one year to this day, Low Angel, I swear it!"
Dirk opened his mouth to reply that no, he'd killed Fyros on Lapulas, and he was pretty sure that Annunaki and native Nibirians weren't exactly the same thing. The last time he checked, that had been the case, anyway - it wasn't hard to mistake a flaming dragon for a giant snake-person, unless you were drunk. But he got halfway through formulating that thought when another one shouldered it's way in, like a rhino forcing open it's cage door, and the resulting mental pictures made his brain scream with horror and disgust, the angel nearly falling down from the shock.
"Fyros was your husband?!" he hollered, eyes wide.
"Move to the top of the class," trilled Glacia, a little too enthusiastically.
It was some time before Dirk could splutter out some more words. "But... Since when did Annunaki start mingling with Nibirians?!"
"Oh, about a thousand years ago." The native Nibiran's tone grew wistful as she idly curled her tail into a small spiral. "And besides, it was an arranged marriage - money, power, putting our families in good standing, blah blah blah..." Her voice trailed off, her eyes vacantly staring into the distance.
Dirk was quick to put two and two together. "I take it you didn't actually like him that much."
Glacia huffed through both nostrils. "Oh, of course not! The man was such a frightful bore - always going on about his plans for conquest and subjugation! Almost never at home, fighting some wretched war on the other side of the universe - never even a birthday card! On top of that," and here an almost rebellious smile curved across the Princess' features, "he was, I believe the saying goes, a genocidal prick."
"You got that right!" Dirk couldn't restrain a small laugh at the innapropriate language, feeling slightly more relaxed now that the reptillian princess seemed calmer and more genial. In fact, it seemed to him that, despite holding a very obvious grudge against him, seemed far more reasonable and willing to talk it out than Fyros had been. Perhaps this wasn't going to be so bad - after all, if an Anunnaki's wife was this much more friendly than the Anunnaki himself, they couldn't hate him that much.
He was proved wrong very quickly.
"But he was still my husband!"
Before Dirk could react accordingly, the Nibirian suddenly shot out like a whip, and sharp claws flashed through the air like scimitars. The angel gasped with pain as his face was suddenly struck, staggering backwards from the force of the blow as his stomach lurched sickeningly. As he swiveled on the spot, clutching his stinging cheek, Glacia rose up into the air on the great length of her tail, eyes shimmering with both the dim lighting and a rage that could melt ice caps, before diving down to glare at him from eye level.
"You murdered him," she snarled, practically shouted. "Humiliated him and robbed him of his dignity, and then vaporised him as if he were no more than a common lowlife! By killing him, you have impugned my honour as his wife, insulted my name as much as you insulted his own! And no-one insults a Nibirian, native or Anunnaki, and walks away free! You will suffer for this, angel, and I will personally ensure you are suitably punished!"
Despite the shock of being attacked and the fright caused by his hostess' change of demenaour, Dirk remained defiant. He didn't believe much in honour - to him, it was a dumb concept that let people get away with really dumb shit, or stopped them doing the right thing out of sheer stupidity. So no, Glacia's motivation didn't impress him in the least. And despite the fact she was practically shrieking in his face, not to mention that she'd just sliced him open, he refused to let himself back down for a second.
"So, what are ya gonna do?" he growled, ignoring the feeling of blood tricking down his face. "Line me up in front of a firing squad? Rip me limb from limb? Fry me with some kind of death ray?"
"As fun as those sound," hissed Glacia, scales scraping on the metal floor, "I have something far better in mind. You Ee-Yarth people have a celebration as this time of year, do you not? Well, so do we Nibirians - and I have special preparations to make for them this year. And I brought you aboard especially for them - not that you'll be able to appreciate it in any way, of course."
Dirk blinked, bewildered. "Okay, firstly, it's pronounced Earth. Secondly, the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
A toothy grin spread across the Daughter of Nibiru's face.
"You shall see, very soon."
Then she snapped her claws, and figures emerged from the shadows - tall, gangly things covered in feathers, with cruel, hooked beaks and blank, staring eyes. As one, they assembled in a ring around the low angel, blocking off escapes of any kind as they slowly advanced on him, brandishing truncheons, knobbled clubs and other assorted implements. At the sight of them, Dirk felt anger flare in his mind, and he looked upon each one of the uniform-clad soldiers with disgust and hatred.
"Vulturites," he snarled, teeth and fists clenched. "You hired fucking Vulturites."
"Oh, they are merely hired help," crooned Glacia as she slowly backed awat. "Not that it was diffucult, you understand - show them money and food and you'll have them eating out of your hand." And with a dignified movement that hardly belied her earlier seething rage and possible mental complexes, she resumed her seat in the throne, smirking with palpable triumph.
"Now you can throw him in a holding cell."
-------
"Oof!"
That is the sound of a Dark Angel impacting with the far wall of a large holding cell, for those of you who are interested. As Dirk slumped to the floor, holding his ribs, the Vulturites loomed in the doorway, derisives sneers on their beaks.
"You're not getting out of this one, Angel," hissed one, elicting a cackle from his companion. And then the door swished shut, the magnetic lock sealing with a decided "click", and whatever witty retort Dirk has in his throat died away as his tormentors laughed away down the corridor. And it occured to him that it was going to be another one of those days, where things had gone slightly out of control and there wasn't much he could do to stop it just yet.
"Well," he grumbled as he picked himself up. "What a lot of bollocks."
"You can say that again," said a voice like silver bells.
Dirk froze.
Then he turned around, and laid eyes on a familiar face, decked in a very familiar green outfit with an equally familiar jingle to the bells.
"Merry Elf?" he gasped.
The small, brown-haired figure looked up sheepishly at him. "Not just me, Mister Dirk. I've brought friends as well." And from behind him came two other familiar faces - a somewhat taller figure, solidly built and with enormous hands like cinder blocks, and a petite young girl with chocolate-brown locks and a distressed twinkle to her eye. All three of the elves regarded him with mized expressions of relief and sorrow, and Dirk didn't know wherever to be amazed or horrified at their presence.
There was a long silence.
"Some reunion, huh," rumbled Punchy after a while.
Dirk nodded. "So ol' Ice Queen caught you guys as well, huh? Figures she'd want to get back at you guys as well."
"She's quite mad," muttered Merry, head lowered. "Madder than her monstrous husband was, I fear. Kringle knows what terrible plans she's got in store for us."
"Hey, don't worry, guys!" Dirk knelt down to meet the elves at eye level, smiling as encouragingly as he could. "I saved you guys once, and I can do it again, right? No crazy snake-lady is gonna get the best of us, if I have anything to say about it!"
On hearing this, Punchy gave a little whoop of joy. "That's our Dirk! Fightin' talk, all the way!"
"But remember," trilled Maisy, batting her eyelashes, "you still owe me a kiss!"
It was Dirk's turn to grin sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah, about that-"
"This conversation is irrelevant."
Dirk froze.
Then he looked to his left.
This was not a wholly incorrect assumption to make. After all, he had apparently transitioned from drinking Jack at the shark tank to a vertical position, wrapped up in something warm and soft. So it was natural of him to assume that he'd simply fallen unconcious from all the alcohol and that Pit had simply found him and carried him to bed. Or that maybe he'd crawled back to his comfy covers himself and simply forgot about making the journey there. Easy explanation.
So imagine his surprise when his sheets unfurled and dumped him onto the floor.
"OW! Fucking hell!" he howled as he curled on the ground, now completely wide awake, hands instinctively curling up around his stomach and chest. He was quite sure that some ribs had been bruised from that particular drop - not only had he fallen quite a distance, but the floor he'd landed on had been surprisingly hard, for something that was supposed to be just plain old polished floorboards. He was probably gonna have to talk to Pit about getting a carpet to-
Wait.
He blinked, now registering the steely chill of the surface against his skin. And now, come to think of it, he was sure he could hear some kind of electronic instrument humming away in the distance - one that didn't sound like an automatic shark feeder built by Wes Weasley. His vision was still blurry, mostly from what little whiskey was still sloshing around up there, but the outlines forming in from of him did not look much like the cosy objects in his room, but instead the clinical grey walls and computer banks of... something else. He certainly didn't remember asking for a supercomputer to put into his-
This wasn't his room.
"Well, well," purred a voice above him. "Handsome figure, aren't you, Dirk?"
At the sound of the hissing voice, like a gas main intent on murder, Dirk made the mistake of looking up.
 |
| Art by Carolina-Eade |
Dirk blinked again, trying to figure out why he was on a spaceship being spoken down to by a giant snake-woman. Had he really hit the Christmas Jack that hard?
"Um, no offence," he tried, mouth feeling full of fluff. "But who the fuck are you?"
"You will watch your language in the presence of-!" screeched a voice from the shadows, and Dirk almost jumped out of his skin. But at the same time, he found his hackles rising with an in-bred genetic hatred - the speaker had the grackled, throaty tones of a-
"Oh, hush, Commander Varn," the snake-thing responded, idly scraping it's talons along the arm of the throne. "It is my fault, after all - forgot to introduce myself, in all this excitement." It's eyes gazed down at Dirk with a sort of idle detatchment, as a lion might look upon an ant, and the angel couldn't help but shudder as a chill he couldn't explain ran down his spine. There was just something about this thing that didn't sit well with him at all.
"My name," it continued, with a thin sort of smile, "is Lady Glacia. Princess of the Seventh Continent, Daughter of Nibiru and, as of now, your master."
Nibiru. That was enough to get Dirk interested - no, more than interested, fired up. Ever since the incident last Christmas, where he fought in mortal combat with a rather genocidal Annunaki, the mere mention of the planet's name was enough to put the dark angel on edge. And now here he was, a prisoner of yet another megalomaniacal somebody from that same planet! With a surge of energy born of righteous annoyance he staggered to his feet, clenching his fists, anger etched across his face as he faced down his serpentine enemy.
"If you're looking to start a fight," he snarled, wings twitching, "then bring it, bitch. I took down Fyros, and I'll just as easily-"
To his surprise, the Nibirian laughed. It was oddly musical and chiming, in stark contrast to the thin speech she'd used to address him, and that only served to derail his train of thought and make his down feathers rise in reflexive fear. And in the shadows, all around him, he was quite certain that others were laughing at him as well, in cackling tones that echoes around the room like a flock of birds trapped in a storm drain. Their mere presence unnerved him even further - he swore he could remember what they were...
"Bless you, no!" exlaimed Glacia as she shifted in her throne, her coils sliding along the floor in great folds. "Fighting is the last thing I want! Messy business, hat is - never gets you anywhere!"
"But..." Dirk lowered his arms, confused. "Then why yank me out of my house like that? What's the point?"
"The point," came the retort, low and icy, "is that I have a score to settle with you, Dirk Angelos. A score that began a year ago, on the surface of the tiny yet powerful living planet of Lauplas. A score that, in a few Macrorels' time, I shall settle once and for all, as befitting of my status as a Princess of the Nibirian race. You will pay," Glacia hissed, lips drawn back to expose cruel fangs, "for the callous muder of my husband one year to this day, Low Angel, I swear it!"
Dirk opened his mouth to reply that no, he'd killed Fyros on Lapulas, and he was pretty sure that Annunaki and native Nibirians weren't exactly the same thing. The last time he checked, that had been the case, anyway - it wasn't hard to mistake a flaming dragon for a giant snake-person, unless you were drunk. But he got halfway through formulating that thought when another one shouldered it's way in, like a rhino forcing open it's cage door, and the resulting mental pictures made his brain scream with horror and disgust, the angel nearly falling down from the shock.
"Fyros was your husband?!" he hollered, eyes wide.
"Move to the top of the class," trilled Glacia, a little too enthusiastically.
It was some time before Dirk could splutter out some more words. "But... Since when did Annunaki start mingling with Nibirians?!"
"Oh, about a thousand years ago." The native Nibiran's tone grew wistful as she idly curled her tail into a small spiral. "And besides, it was an arranged marriage - money, power, putting our families in good standing, blah blah blah..." Her voice trailed off, her eyes vacantly staring into the distance.
Dirk was quick to put two and two together. "I take it you didn't actually like him that much."
Glacia huffed through both nostrils. "Oh, of course not! The man was such a frightful bore - always going on about his plans for conquest and subjugation! Almost never at home, fighting some wretched war on the other side of the universe - never even a birthday card! On top of that," and here an almost rebellious smile curved across the Princess' features, "he was, I believe the saying goes, a genocidal prick."
"You got that right!" Dirk couldn't restrain a small laugh at the innapropriate language, feeling slightly more relaxed now that the reptillian princess seemed calmer and more genial. In fact, it seemed to him that, despite holding a very obvious grudge against him, seemed far more reasonable and willing to talk it out than Fyros had been. Perhaps this wasn't going to be so bad - after all, if an Anunnaki's wife was this much more friendly than the Anunnaki himself, they couldn't hate him that much.
He was proved wrong very quickly.
"But he was still my husband!"
Before Dirk could react accordingly, the Nibirian suddenly shot out like a whip, and sharp claws flashed through the air like scimitars. The angel gasped with pain as his face was suddenly struck, staggering backwards from the force of the blow as his stomach lurched sickeningly. As he swiveled on the spot, clutching his stinging cheek, Glacia rose up into the air on the great length of her tail, eyes shimmering with both the dim lighting and a rage that could melt ice caps, before diving down to glare at him from eye level.
"You murdered him," she snarled, practically shouted. "Humiliated him and robbed him of his dignity, and then vaporised him as if he were no more than a common lowlife! By killing him, you have impugned my honour as his wife, insulted my name as much as you insulted his own! And no-one insults a Nibirian, native or Anunnaki, and walks away free! You will suffer for this, angel, and I will personally ensure you are suitably punished!"
Despite the shock of being attacked and the fright caused by his hostess' change of demenaour, Dirk remained defiant. He didn't believe much in honour - to him, it was a dumb concept that let people get away with really dumb shit, or stopped them doing the right thing out of sheer stupidity. So no, Glacia's motivation didn't impress him in the least. And despite the fact she was practically shrieking in his face, not to mention that she'd just sliced him open, he refused to let himself back down for a second.
"So, what are ya gonna do?" he growled, ignoring the feeling of blood tricking down his face. "Line me up in front of a firing squad? Rip me limb from limb? Fry me with some kind of death ray?"
"As fun as those sound," hissed Glacia, scales scraping on the metal floor, "I have something far better in mind. You Ee-Yarth people have a celebration as this time of year, do you not? Well, so do we Nibirians - and I have special preparations to make for them this year. And I brought you aboard especially for them - not that you'll be able to appreciate it in any way, of course."
Dirk blinked, bewildered. "Okay, firstly, it's pronounced Earth. Secondly, the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
A toothy grin spread across the Daughter of Nibiru's face.
"You shall see, very soon."
Then she snapped her claws, and figures emerged from the shadows - tall, gangly things covered in feathers, with cruel, hooked beaks and blank, staring eyes. As one, they assembled in a ring around the low angel, blocking off escapes of any kind as they slowly advanced on him, brandishing truncheons, knobbled clubs and other assorted implements. At the sight of them, Dirk felt anger flare in his mind, and he looked upon each one of the uniform-clad soldiers with disgust and hatred.
"Vulturites," he snarled, teeth and fists clenched. "You hired fucking Vulturites."
"Oh, they are merely hired help," crooned Glacia as she slowly backed awat. "Not that it was diffucult, you understand - show them money and food and you'll have them eating out of your hand." And with a dignified movement that hardly belied her earlier seething rage and possible mental complexes, she resumed her seat in the throne, smirking with palpable triumph.
"Now you can throw him in a holding cell."
-------
"Oof!"
That is the sound of a Dark Angel impacting with the far wall of a large holding cell, for those of you who are interested. As Dirk slumped to the floor, holding his ribs, the Vulturites loomed in the doorway, derisives sneers on their beaks.
"You're not getting out of this one, Angel," hissed one, elicting a cackle from his companion. And then the door swished shut, the magnetic lock sealing with a decided "click", and whatever witty retort Dirk has in his throat died away as his tormentors laughed away down the corridor. And it occured to him that it was going to be another one of those days, where things had gone slightly out of control and there wasn't much he could do to stop it just yet.
"Well," he grumbled as he picked himself up. "What a lot of bollocks."
"You can say that again," said a voice like silver bells.
Dirk froze.
Then he turned around, and laid eyes on a familiar face, decked in a very familiar green outfit with an equally familiar jingle to the bells.
"Merry Elf?" he gasped.
The small, brown-haired figure looked up sheepishly at him. "Not just me, Mister Dirk. I've brought friends as well." And from behind him came two other familiar faces - a somewhat taller figure, solidly built and with enormous hands like cinder blocks, and a petite young girl with chocolate-brown locks and a distressed twinkle to her eye. All three of the elves regarded him with mized expressions of relief and sorrow, and Dirk didn't know wherever to be amazed or horrified at their presence.
There was a long silence.
"Some reunion, huh," rumbled Punchy after a while.
Dirk nodded. "So ol' Ice Queen caught you guys as well, huh? Figures she'd want to get back at you guys as well."
"She's quite mad," muttered Merry, head lowered. "Madder than her monstrous husband was, I fear. Kringle knows what terrible plans she's got in store for us."
"Hey, don't worry, guys!" Dirk knelt down to meet the elves at eye level, smiling as encouragingly as he could. "I saved you guys once, and I can do it again, right? No crazy snake-lady is gonna get the best of us, if I have anything to say about it!"
On hearing this, Punchy gave a little whoop of joy. "That's our Dirk! Fightin' talk, all the way!"
"But remember," trilled Maisy, batting her eyelashes, "you still owe me a kiss!"
It was Dirk's turn to grin sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah, about that-"
"This conversation is irrelevant."
Dirk froze.
Then he looked to his left.
 |
| Dalek 2002 render by Rob Semenoff |
"OH, JESUS CHRIST," he screamed, "IT'S A FUCKING DALEK!" And he promptly back-pedalled to the opposite wall of the cell, pressing himself against it in a vain attempt to merge with it and vanish.
"Cease your hysterical screaming," grated the Dalek as it rumbled towards him, head lights flashing with each syllable. "I am incapable of harm."
"Incapable of-?!" Dirk's terrified rant immediately stopped as a glint of metal caught his eye. Looking reflexively down, the angel noticed that the Dalek's gunstalk was crooked and buckled, the glass focusing lens shattered beyond repair and the main barrel a sorry, crumpled mess. Relief washed over him, although it was a small relief considering he was still locked in a small room with a member of the most genocidal race ever.
"They broke his weapon, Mr. Dirk," Maisy chimed in, simultaneously reassuring yet nervous. "He can't do anything to hurt us."
"Yeah, right," hissed Dirk, wings still crossed low behind his back in fear. "The fuck is he doing here, anyway?!"
"I am a prisoner, like yourself," came the reply. "I was abducted from my station and brought abord this vessel. My subspace-communicator is damaged - I cannot send out a distress signal to my superiors."
"Probably best you didn't." The idea of a whole fleet of Daleks swooping down to raze the entire planet at Christmastime did not settle well in Dirk's mind. And the unblinking stare from the alien's eyestalk aimed right at him wasn't helping him to stay calm, either.
"But why would Glacia capture you?" enquired Merry, tilting his head to the side. "That doesn't make sense - you haven't done anything to offend her, surely?"
"Negative." The Dalek's eyestalk swivled down to observe the tiny elf. "Daleks do not intrude in Nibirian space - the distance between our planets is too great."
"Wait a moment..." Dirk's voice was hesitant as he spoke. "If that's the case, then why would she go out of her way to abduct you?"
The Dalek turned to stare at him, but gave no answers. The elves were staring uo at him too, just as confused, and Dirk realised a rather nasty idea was creeping into his head, bit by bit. He took a deep breath, figuring this would need some explaining - it was just the ghost of an idea at the moment, but the implications were not pretty at all.
"See, Glacia can't just be after us. Me and the Elves, I mean," he added hastily. "If she's caught a Dalek as well, then that could mean she's got other species as well, from different planets, galaxies or maybe even universes. All of them locked up in this dungeon of hers. And she mentioned something about a special celebration, when she was interrogating me - some kind of freakish parallel to Earth's Christmas that she's apparently making big preparations for, and I'm supposed to be a big part in it.
"So, what I want to know is... where do you lot fit in?"
There was a long, tense silence as angel, Dalek and elf tried to figure out the mystery.
"But why would Glacia capture you?" enquired Merry, tilting his head to the side. "That doesn't make sense - you haven't done anything to offend her, surely?"
"Negative." The Dalek's eyestalk swivled down to observe the tiny elf. "Daleks do not intrude in Nibirian space - the distance between our planets is too great."
"Wait a moment..." Dirk's voice was hesitant as he spoke. "If that's the case, then why would she go out of her way to abduct you?"
The Dalek turned to stare at him, but gave no answers. The elves were staring uo at him too, just as confused, and Dirk realised a rather nasty idea was creeping into his head, bit by bit. He took a deep breath, figuring this would need some explaining - it was just the ghost of an idea at the moment, but the implications were not pretty at all.
"See, Glacia can't just be after us. Me and the Elves, I mean," he added hastily. "If she's caught a Dalek as well, then that could mean she's got other species as well, from different planets, galaxies or maybe even universes. All of them locked up in this dungeon of hers. And she mentioned something about a special celebration, when she was interrogating me - some kind of freakish parallel to Earth's Christmas that she's apparently making big preparations for, and I'm supposed to be a big part in it.
"So, what I want to know is... where do you lot fit in?"
There was a long, tense silence as angel, Dalek and elf tried to figure out the mystery.
Fortunately, the tension was broken by an announcement on the tannoy, crackling over the speakers in the corner of the room. As one, the prisoners turned to look at it, wondering what sort of an announcement it would be.
Unfortunately, the voice coming over the tannoy was that of Lady Glacia.
And, as Dirk listened to what was being said, his face slowly went paler and paler with horror.
-------
"Good evening, loyal subjects!
"This is your Lady speaking - Lady Glacia of Nibiru, Princess of the Seventh Continent, with an important announcement! As you're aware, the celebration dinner for this year's Independance Festival takes place in about three Macrorels, and attendance is mandatory for all crew and staff - failure to attend is punishable by execution. Unless you're one of the three-hundred current sufferers of the Jovian flu, in which case the cost of your portion is being docked from your pay. I didn't put this together so you could let it go cold, you ingrates.
"This is your Lady speaking - Lady Glacia of Nibiru, Princess of the Seventh Continent, with an important announcement! As you're aware, the celebration dinner for this year's Independance Festival takes place in about three Macrorels, and attendance is mandatory for all crew and staff - failure to attend is punishable by execution. Unless you're one of the three-hundred current sufferers of the Jovian flu, in which case the cost of your portion is being docked from your pay. I didn't put this together so you could let it go cold, you ingrates.
"Anyway, I have some very good news to impart - the menu has now been completed! A copy has all been sent to your personal data pads for your perusal, and you are expected to make your selection of food and send it back to our main computer so we can prepare it for you. Don't want to end up like last year where we couldn't make enough chocolate pudding so some of you ended up with the custard instead! Honestly, how was I supposed to know you'd all froth at the mouth and die? Your fault for not mentioning your allergies on your CV's...
"So, this year's looking to be the biggest Independance Feast so far! We've got a wide range of dishes and delicacies from across the galaxy, including:
- Dalek tentacle soup with fresh bread!
- Korath gizzard a la carte!
- Lapulas Elf fricassee with salad garnish and Spiridonian mint sauce!
- Chocolate and diced dryad pudding topped with marzipan and nutmeg!
- Imported Plesioth liver creme brulee!
- And our centerpiece for tonight - Low Angel rump roast with parsnips, roast potatoes and Spicy Angel Wings!
"This has been your Lady and master, saying... Happy Frosttime!"
Click.
-------
"She... she wants to eat us..."
A long, awful silence filled the cell. The Dalek hadn't moved from it's position, but it's eyestalk was staring intently at the speaker. Merry and the other elves, by contrast had taken to hiding behind Dirk's legs, trembling in fear and hugging each other to try and keep each other calm. The Dark Angel himself, meanwhile, could only stand there, wings twitching in horror as he tried to digest this latest bit of news concerning his predicament. Not only was Lady Glacia, the alien who'd taken him onto her ship, extremely angry with him for killing Fyros, her husband by arranged marriage...
...but she wanted to eat him! As pert of her race's annual celebrations, no less!
He was beginning to understand how a turkey feels.
"Guess I was right," muttered Merry from somewhere behind him. "She's even worse than her husband, after all."
"As if being burnt alive wasn't bad enough," sobbed Maisy, ger voice laden with hysterical fear. "But now we're going to be roasted and eaten instead!"
"Well, she's not roasting my rump," burst out Dirk, "and that's for fucking certain! I'm getting out of here before that happens!" At this determined shout, the elves looked up at him, eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and hope.
"But how?" Punchy emerged from his hiding place to look at Dirk properly, eyebrows high with bewilderment. "This place is locked up tighter than a Boxing Day moneybank! And they've probably got guards on patrol as well - what if they catch us?"
Dirk turned to look down at the elf, eyes set with classic Kobber determination and righteous anger. "Don't worry about that," he growled. "Vulturites might be foul, disgusting and a whole lot of other rude names I could use right now, they're also dumb as shit. If there's an excuse to get drunk, they'll drop everything to do so - they're probably getting pissed right now, not even paying attention to us."
Also stepping out from behind Dirk's legs, Merry fixed both of his eyes on the door. "But what about that?" he enquired.
Dirk blinked, realising he'd hit something of a snag. In his enthusiasm to defy yet another Christmas-ruining villain, he'd completely forgotten one of the most basic steps of a prison break - figuring out how to break out in the first place. And it was going to be tricky - the door was completely smooth, with no evidence of handles or locks on it, or even any buttons that would give a clue as to how to open it. It was also probably made of some fancy material that repelled magic, as well, so that was out of the question, and nobody in the cell had any explosives or cutting implements on them as far as he knew. Looking at the souleless, grey lump of metal that stood between him and freedom, the Dark Angel was not omly completely stumped, but also felt a little hopeless.
And then the Dalek, silent until now, swivelled to face the angel. "I have been performing preliminary scans of the ship's structure since my capture," it growled in it's trademark staccato tones. "The technology is Nibirian in origin, but includes facillities borrowed from vessels of other races."
Dirk sighed in irritation. "Very bloody useful, mate. Now tell us something that would help us escape."
"This prison is Dalek design. The doors use magnetic locks manufactured on Skaro."
Magnetic locks. At those words, something clicked in Dirk's head, and a memory popped up like a duck at a shooting range. A few days ago, bored and not in the mood to wrap presents, the dark angel had slumped onto the couch and endeavoured to watch the first thing that came on TV, no matter how rubbish. By sheer coincidence Daleks Invasion Earth 2150 A.D. had been on BBC2, and although the film wasn't bad, he'd still found himself falling asleep during parts of it. But one time, when he was awake, he remembered Peter Cushing opening the doors of a cell by...
Quickly, he turned to Merry and the other elves. "You guys got anything plastic on you?" he asked. "I think I got an idea on how to bust out."
"I don't think so, Mr. Dirk," said Merry, and Punchy also shook his head likewise. But Maisy was already digging through her pockets, and before Dirk could blink she'd produced a large, flat comb from sonewhere on her person. The tiny elf held it out between thumb and forefinger, just high enough so Dirk could take it without bending down.
"I always carry one with me," she explained as the angel took it from her, examining it closely. "Just in case I need to fix up my hair."
But Dirk was already running towards the door, kneeling down as he reached it and examining the bottom of it. From what he remembered, there would be a certain lump in the door that indicated the presence of the magnetic- ah-hah, there it was! Now, all he had to do was force the comb, point-wise, through the- Yes!
With a click and a swoosh, the door opened, and both angels and elves scrambled out of the cell, nearly falling over each other in their haste to get into the corridor that formed the prison bay. As a bunch they all collapsed against the opposite wall and flattened themselves against it, fully expecting alarms to start blaring and patrols of armed guards to come stampeding around the corner with guns loaded and blugeons drawn. But after half a minute or so, waiting with baited breath, the four were shocked to see that absolutely nothing of the sort was happening, and didn't seem likely to happen in the near future. Not a single Vulturite showed up, and there wasn;t even so much as a flashing red light to mark their escape.
There was a long, awkward pause, in which the Dalek glided slowly out of the cell, seemingly non-plussed by the other's brief moment of panic
"...but why-?" Punchy began to say, but trailed off.
"That's probably how the door works," Merry tried, staring at the cold, square room he was in just a moment ago. "They probably just cut the power to the lock every time they open it, so there's no way to tell if-"
"Are we escaping or not?" cut in Maisy, sharply.
"Actually," muttered Dirk after a while, "I've been thinking - why do we have to just escape? I mean, assuming we manage to sneak past the gaurds and, I dunno, find drop pods back to earth or something. Assuming we succeed in all that. What's gonna stop Glacia from hunting us down when she finds out we've flown the coop and bringing us back in?"
"...So what do we do, Mr. Dirk?" piped up Maisy, after a moment to mull this over.
"Well," replied the angel, "if we're gonna dick a Nibirian over, then we gotta go all the way." Picking himself up from the floor, he turned to the Dalek, who had been amusing itself by counting the rivets in the walls. "Oi, tinpot - please tell me you downloaded a map of the ship during those fancy scans of yours."
"Correct," boomed the Dalek, the volume of it's voice making the evles jump to their feet out of shock. "I was successful in downloading the schematics of the ship via remote hacking."
"Fucking ace." Dirk clapped his hands together, grinning. "Can you display them holographically?"
"I obey."
The travel machine's manipulator arm tilted upwards, the outer edges of the plunger glowing blue with light. There was a brief flash of light and, before the eyes of the other four, a large replica of the ship materialised above the plunger, spinning gently in the way of all holograms. Leaning over, Dirk beckoned the elves over, who crowded around him with fascination as he began to modify the hologram, pushing and pulling to enlarge it and cutting parts away into cross section with a casual flick of the wrist.
"Guys," chuckled the angel, "we're going to steal Frosttime.
"And this is how we're gonna do it..."
TO BE CONTINUED...
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