Urp

Bloated Narrator Voice: At Calvin's house, burp, the Day After Thanksgiving Thanksgiving get-together!

Calvin: *laying on floor* Oof.

Clever Adolescent Panda: *also laying on floor* Ooo, I ate too much.

Makes Brakes Fail Lass: *propped up in corner, sleepily* Uh-huh.

CAP: Too. . . much. . . food.

Calvin: Non, nonsense. No, no such thing. Right, Cassanee?

*Cassanee, sprawled on the floor near a heating vent, can only raise one hand in a lazy thumbs up*

Calvin: OK, maybe there is such a thing.

CAP: Why didn't you invite more people?

Calvin: I told you to bring the little robot wizard along!

CAP: Lufonz said he won't come out of the Citadel. He's worried about being found.

Makes Brakes Fail Lass: Found by who?

{Back in a familiar section of woods, two figures stand, surveying the downed trees and assorted destruction. One gleams dully in the late fall sunlight, ignoring the chill. The other is wrapped in a thick coat, a low, wide-brimmed hat pulled down firmly, their beard blowing in the wind.}

Beardo: Yes, there's an unmistakable trace of magic here.

Metallico: There are several oil residues. Gun oil, bar oil, cooking oil, something else. It is difficult to confirm precisely whether there is any conforming to robot specifications.

Beardo: *scoffs* So much for your vaunted robot senses.

Metallico: Warning, vaunted robot senses have detected the presence of my fist in your face in 5.7 seconds!

Beardo: *draws a staff from the coat* Just try it, soulless abomination! We should never have agreed to renew alliances with your kind!

Metallico: Agreement.

{Out of the shadows, a figure emerges. Fairly large and solidly built, with a round, stubbled face. He grins.}

Mysterious, Upbeat Voice: Easy now, boys, focus on your real problem.

Metallico: Identify self.

Mysterious, Upbeat Voice: No one you know, big guy. But I can tell you there was a robot wizard here, and it left. . . with a panda.

Beardo: A panda? Then the robot wizard lies within their Citadel? A thousand curses!

Metallico: Expression of alarm!

Mysterious, Upbeat Voice: Come now, fellows, I'm sure if your two sides put your differences aside, you can deal with this. Or, you can give up and accept the existence of something you both find abhorrent.

Beardo: And just what do you gain from helping us, stranger?

Metallico: Agreed. Query of motivations.

Helpful Stranger: Maybe I just wanted to help. Or maybe I hate robot-wizards and pandas, too. Like I said, the next step is yours. *fades back into shadows*

Beardo: *uncertain* I must report to my elders on this.

Metallico: Agreed.

Bloated Narrator Voice: *to itself* Deep breath, you can do it. BACK AT CALVIN'S! BURP! Ugh, I need to lay down, I'm outta here.

CAP: Why did it say that? Did we go somewhere?

Calvin: Probably just talking in its sleep. Meat sweat hallucinations. Ignore it

CAP: What about Deadpool?

Calvin: He wanted to spend the holidays with his family. Which one, I don't know. I'm not sure Eleanor is ready to meet Shiklah. I figured there'd be a fight if I invited UnCalvin. And Cornelius Potfiller declared us 'ill-mannered louts', and said he was going to have a quiet dinner with his family full of strained conversation and snide remarks from his mother that would drive his wife into the absinthe.

Makes Brakes Fail Lass: Absinthe, wow. Well now I'm thirsty. Can you throw me another beer? I can't seem to get up under my own power.

Calvin: Ugh, fine. *Calvin rolls over and pushes himself up, then staggers into kitchen and grabs beer from the fridge.Returning to the living room, he sits heavily back on the floor and rolls the can across the carpet.*

CAP: Nobody likes Cornelius, anyway.

Calvin: Exactly. He'd just steal his contribution to dinner from his servants, and then you'd beat him up, and I don't want any fighting this year.

CAP: It wouldn't be a fight, it'd be a slaughter *mimes high kick, then lays back down woozily* Woof, I need to sleep for a year.

Calvin: Feel free to do so right where you are. We can use a throw rug.

CAP: Why you!

Calvin: You doing OK over there, Cass?

Cassanee: Uh-huh. *Cassanee then rolls onto her side, pulls her cloak over her, and within a few moments, there's a soft snoring sound*

Makes Brakes Fail Lass: *crumples beer can, sizes up trash can* OK, here we go. *Lobs the can, misses garbage can by five feet, can bounces off wall and then Calvin's head* Sorry.

Calvin: *picks up can, tosses it into garbage* Nice shot. And here I was about to give thanks for a holiday get-together without head trauma for anyone. Maybe next year.