The vid-com let out its irritating squeal. “I keep forgetting to change that ring-tone…” Mr. Sploosh dripped, forgetfully. “Yes? Oh. It’s you.” He finished, eying Brap sardonically. “Why do you have an imploring look upon your ugly face? Should you not have an excited I have captured your quarry look? Yes! Yes you should! Where are you, a restaurant? What’s the matter!?” The Shoe rambled, semi-rhetorically, “No wait! Don’t answer that! I don’t care! Fix it yourself you overpaid Snarfplat!” (A Snarfplat being one of those feces-aliens Ronald mentioned earlier)
Brap stood inside the very restaurant of which he’d stowed his space craft upon. And, though he’d already checked the roof several times, he felt a tingling Carkeywallet-esque urge to check one last time, before admitting the loss of a fairly shiny ship to his employer. Brap repressed the urge to check. Three times was more than sufficient. Instead, he took note of his surroundings once more while his Shoey employer prattled on about just how similar a certain rhino-esque bounty hunter was to various forms of feces.
It was obvious that there’d been some sort of commotion, (though he couldn’t be absolutely sure that Earthern restaurants tended not to include pyrotechnics and splattered human remains in their dinner-shows, he hadn’t seen anything like that in the free travel brochures he’d received as ‘recon’). Though how it had led to the stealing or destruction of Brap’s ship, was still open for deduction.
Brap, noting a moment wherein he could attempt to get a toot in edgewise, quickly piped up. “Sir, I must respectfully request…”
“I knew it! No! Request denied!” Mr. Sploosh squirted angrily. “…oh… what do you need…?”
“Er… it would seem…” Brap decided to do it like a minor-injury-bandage, quick, and harsh. “I NEED A NEW SHIP!” He blurted. “I LOST MY OTHER… one.” (This was, perhaps, in retrospect, not the best method.)
“…you… lost… your… hey, what’s that behind you?” The Fungicidal Tennis Shoe flushed.
Brap whirled, then, pausing in mid-whirl, realized that he’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book, then, noticed there was something indeed of interest behind him, and, somewhat awkwardly, restarted his paused whirl; wondering silently to himself if Mr. Sploosh had, in fact, seen what was behind Brap, or, if Brap had, as he’d originally suspected, fallen for a ruse… but then had a ‘happy accident’.
“Er, it appears to be some children’s drawings… I… hey! Sir! This could be a clue! I… My legs aren’t that large, are they…?” He queried, picking up Steve’s former “war room strategies”
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