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| Details |
| Author: | inkie |
| Summary: | White Squad resumes their efforts to infiltrate the mysterious "archaeological" expedition of the goblin Commander Schnottz. First they must prove themselves to the Furrier and his Fashionists, and then they kind of accidentally un-prove themselves when a ritual goes awry. No Cobalt Company member was responsible for these puns. No, not even Alysson. |
| Rating: | M for Mature 17+ |
Atley stands in the center of Ramkahen, chewing on jerky as he overlooks the city with a squint, sweat gleaming on his sun tanned forehead.
Cressidha stands calmly in the shade, tracing water-conjuring sigils in the air.
Colson stands next to Cressidha, in the shade, with the usual mild Aspenwood expression.
Ben adjusts the brim of his hat and checks the canteen at his belt. He squints around the dusty city plaza.
Sil ambles over in the general direction of Atley and Ben, raising his hand in a greeting.
Ben spots Atley and ambles over, tipping up his hat-brim. He nods to Sil with a grin.
Cressidha checks her sunscreen in a compact mirror. She rubs in a spot near her chin.
Atley glances over and doubletakes, finishing his jerky before he extends a hand to Ben. "You look prepared."
Sil grins back at Ben. "Like the hat. Good for sun, huh?"
"Good afternoon, Ben, Dane, Silvestre." Cressidha nods to them.
Ben nods at Atley. "We are archaeology…ing. Uh. Doin' archaeology. Allegedly. Got to look the part." Ben tugs his hat brim.
"Good afternoon, everyone," Colson says as he steps out of the shade into the circle of people.
"Good afternoon everybody," Sil smiles around as people begin to gather.
Atley grunts in agreement. "Report said you lot found and activated an artifact?"
Cressidha begins to pass out water as usual.
"Yeah. Couple of 'em, in fact. But right now we have got a… problem. With some unscrupulous fellows." Ben looks stern.
Atley furrows his brow inquisitively, a silent question.
Azizia joins the group. "Hello, Blue and White squad." She bows.
Bran does not look any more archaeology-y than usual — just his usual mismatched, ink-stained robes.
"Auralind, Thaeru'kal, good afternoon," Cressidha greets them as she passes out water to Auralind.
Colson ties his water to his belt, as he inclines his head to the rest.
"Mr. Stillwall. Alysson. Azizia." Cressidha is going around the circle.
Auralind bows her head reverently to Cressidha as she accepts the Gift of Water. "Shaha lor'ma dula Luvas'alith."
"You're quite welcome," Cressidha says to Auralind as usual.
Bran bows to Cressidha in thanks, eyes twinkling merrily.
Azizia smiles at Cress as she gets water. "Thank you, Miss Cress."
Sil accepts the water. "Thanks, never have enough out here."
"Cheers, Cress," Atley mutters quietly as he accepts the water and immediately takes a few mouthfuls.
"We had some trouble last time at the artifact site with some fellows who went pretty rough. Turns out there is a goblin runnin' a excavation on the south coast. He seems… shady." Ben adjusts his hat again. It is also shady.
Atley scoffs and glances over his shoulder to the south. "Greenskins. Ought've known."
Sil raises his eyebrows. "Goblins, huh? I guess you all know to be careful about contracts."
Ben turns his head to spit on the ground, and then looks sheepish to look up and see Colson standing almost right there. "Uh. Sorry, Cole."
Colson doesn't seem bothered. "It is fine," Colson says to Ben.
"I thought greenskins were orcs?" Alysson asks raising his hand.
Atley shakes his head and says, "Both."
"We are not enterin' no goblin contracts, for sure. But we are gonna try and get in with 'em and see what they are up to. It's a… big operation." Ben shakes his head.
"As opposed to us beigeskins!" Bran says cheerfully.
"Yeah, goblins are kinda greenish too, right?" Sil says. "If we meet another green people it'll start getting more confusing."
Cressidha steps into the spot she vacated. She missed being spit on because she was circulating with water.
Atley grunts at Ben. "Good've you to be on that. They'll pick this land clean if they're left to it."
Sil nods at Bran. He is a beigeskin.
Auralind smirks down at Bran. She is not a beigeskin.
Cressidha covers her mouth to hide a smile.
"Well, I hope you all can talk some sense into them, and keep 'em from doing anything that'll mess up Uldum," Sil says to Ben.
"If you need advice, I get on very well with goblins. You can ask for help of mine," Azizia nods.
"Yeah. We will… try to talk some sense." Ben nods at Sil.
Atley side-eyes Silvestre, immediately dubious over talking sense into goblins.
"Goblins like cents," Alysson says, nodding.
Ben clears his throat. "Okay. White Squad folks, you ready?"
"Shai," Auralind nods. "I am ready."
Atley glances around, peforming a triple-headcheck of his own people as White Squad musters.
Colson chuckles low at the goblins like cents, just a little smile, before he sobers, nodding to Dane.
Thaeru'kal rumbles. She is ready.
"Be safe, everyone." Cressidha nods to White Squad.
"Okay, then. Mount up." Ben moves away from the main group with a nod as he goes. "See y'all around. Be safe."
"Yeah, have good archaeology!" Sil says waving farewell to the team.
"Light be with you," Colson says, with a blessing.
White Squad wings their way south to Schnottz’s Landing.
Ben lands Stratus near Commander Schnottz's bunker and counts the number of bodyguards standing around it.
Bran hums to himself, looking around.
"Okay, y'all. We ready to go see if they let us join up this time?" Ben looks his squad over. "Try to look… uh. Unscrupulous, maybe?"
"And be on your guard," Auralind warns. "I do not trust this Schnottz."
"D'you think we'll find any more lights to activate, helpin' these fellows?" Alysson asks.
Ben nods grimly at Auralind. To Alysson, he says, "Reckon we might. Reckon that might be what they're after."
"Well then if we tell 'em we're here lightin' lights too, maybe they let us join?" Alysson suggests.
"Oh, hm, how scrupulous do I look?" Bran says, looking down at himself uncertainly.
"It is hard to say, with your beard, sir," admits Ben.
Bran considers, then unbraids his beard so it's all wavy and crazy.
"You look perfectly scrupulous to me, Prospector," Aura says dryly.
Bran chuckles at Auralind.
Ben studies Bran for a moment and nods firmly. He looks down at himself. "Uh."
Ben takes his hat off for a moment to pull the Cobalt tabard over his head and stuff it into his pack. He claps the hat back on.
"Oh right, should probably dispense with the heroic tabards," Bran agrees.
Auralind similarly removes her tabard.
Bran's own tabard (Explorer's League) is entirely covered by his crimped wildfire of a beard.
Alysson scoops up some sand to pour on Ben. "This'll help!"
"Okay," says Ben. "Reckon that unscruples — whoa!"
Ben glares at Alysson, and then down at his sandy armor. He brushes some of the sand away and sighs. "Yeah. Okay. Fair enough."
Alysson grins and nods.
"A fellow who does not take care of his armor probably ain't got too much scruples," Ben decides.
"I've got ink all over mine," Bran offers helpfully.
"Pretty unscrupulous, sir," Ben confirms. "Here we go." He nods firmly and starts toward the bunker.
"Mistwalker," Bran says cheerfully, "just think about somethin' that makes ye real angry. That'll give ye a nice threatenin' look."
Auralind nods to Bran. "How is this?" Her expression hasn't really changed.
"Terrifyin'," Bran says, patting her arm.
Auralind nods with a smirk.
The blood elf lowers his magazine and raises his eyebrows as the group re-enters the bunker. “You again?”
"Lo there!" Bran says cheerfully. And unscrupulously.
"It is time for zhe meetin'!" Alysson informs the blood elf.
The elf sighs. “I suppose this persistence means you’re sincere about joining the effort. Very well.” He closes his magazine. “A word of advice, then, if you mean to weasel your way in when the operation is already so far along and so close to success — You’ll want to ingratiate yourselves. Lucky for you, the Commander is a man of simple tastes, and he can be most generous to those who demonstrate their loyalty."
"Suuure!" Bran says enthusiastically to the elf.
Ben raises his eyebrows at the word 'success,' and then un-raises them and tries to look apathetic. Bran's good cheer dampens the effect.
"Okay," he says. "We can demonstrate." He turns his head to spit on the floor, although this time he pauses a moment to make sure no one is standing there.
“The commander is quite an adept leatherworker. Before becoming a — an archaeologist, he was so renowned, and did such a profitable trade in animal hides and furs, that he was known simply as ‘The Furrier.’” The elf eyes them like he thinks they might recognize the moniker.
"Oh, yeah, sure, zhe fuzzy fellow!" Alysson says, nodding.
The blood elf eyes Alysson, and then shrugs. Close enough. “There’s rumored to be a unique indigenous breed of coyote at the dried oasis to the east. A few of their furs would make a thoughtful gift, hm?”
Auralind grunts.
"What's he gonna do with… well, this place is a bit short on rugs…" Alysson muses.
"It isn't really your business. The man wants a gift, you bring him a gift." The elf eyes Alysson again. “In addition, he has a fur-clad nemesis in the region that has proved elusive thus far. If you can capture the lone Desert Fox that stalks the oasis, I’m sure he would be very impressed.”
"No problem!" Bran says amiably.
The elf raises an elegant, pointy brow and steps back.
They seem to be dismissed.
"Oasis east of here. Y'all spot it, flyin' over?" Ben heads for the door.
"Aye!" says Bran.
"Which way's east?" Alysson asks.
Bran points.
"Great. You take point, then, sir, to navigate us," Ben says. "Auralind, you want to handle the skinnin'?"
Auralind nods grimly. "If it must be done, yes."
They fly east. Between Schnottz’s Landing and the oasis, they fly over a sprawling ruin of some kind.
Bran gazes happily at the ruins.
Bran steers Bronzebird toward the distant oasis.
"Careful how ye go!" Bran calls back. "Crawlin' with wild thengs."
"Reckon we can clear out a few coyotes to get in with these fellows," Ben says. "We got coyotes back home. They are no good."
Auralind nocks an arrow and takes aim at a coyote. "I apologize."
"So uh… aren't oasises s'posed to be green?" Alysson asks.
Ben surveys the sere vegetation. "Yeah. Ain't real green, is it?"
"Clearly there was water here at some point…" Bran observes.
"Where'd it run off to?" Alysson asks.
"What you reckon happen to it? Shattering, maybe?" Ben squints against the glare from the sand.
"Most likely, aye," says Bran.
"Lotta bones. Lotta bugs," Ben observes.
"What're the bones of? They're big," Alysson says.
"Ah here ye go," Bran says, pointing. "All drained right inta the sea there, I betcha, when the land shifted."
"Ahh, yeah." Ben frowns.
"The fox!" Auralind darts after the desert fox, frowning as the sly creature dives into some foliage and disappears.
"Slippery bastard…" Bran grumbles.
"I see why the filthy goblin has had such trouble catching it," Auralind comments.
Bran pauses to watch a pair of horned lizards.
Ben stops to catch his breath and takes his hat off to mop his brow. "Damn."
"What's the buildin' here?" Alysson asks, pointing at the gold door with a face.
Bran is sketching it.
"Somethin'… Titan? Or tol'vir. Tol'vir, I reckon. Based on the distinctive ornamentation." Ben squints.
More coyotes are skinned. Some vultures take issue with what they seem to think are competitors for the dry bones scattered across the landscape. Bran sketches, Ben sweats, Alysson does Light-knows-what, and Auralind hunts for a fox.
Ben takes his hat off again and mops his brow, then fans himself. "We all set?"
"Did ye find the little scamp?" Bran asks. He may have been distracted by sketching things.
Ben looks to Auralind. "You get the scamp, ma'am?"
Auralind holds up a leather bag. It's squirming. "Eventually. Yes."
"Thought we were after a fox," Alysson says.
Ben nods to Auralind. To Alysson he says, "Figure of speech."
"The fox is? Huh. Never seen a speech-fox, but maybe that's why he's so rare," Alysson muses.
Ben eyes Alysson and then just nods. "Okay. Let's go back there an' see if we can get in with the Furrier." He summons Stratus again to mount up.
Back at Schnottz’s Landing…
The blood elf looks up. He seems annoyed to have his magazine interrupted again. "Yes?"
"We did yer theng," Bran informs him cheerfully.
Ben jerks a thumb at Auralind.
"Vhe have your fox-of-speech!" Alysson announces.
"My… what? Theng? Speech?" The blood elf raises his brows again.
Auralind places the stack of pelts and the squirming satchel on the table beside Belloc.
“Oh,” murmurs the elf. “These are exquisite. The Commander will be able to make a winter uniform with them. And the fox as well!” He looks up, impressed in spite of himself.
"He's dressin' the fox," Alysson says, nodding.
Auralind stares coldly at the blood elf.
"Very well." The blood elf sighs and sets his magazine aside, collecting the furs and bagged fox from the table. "Let's go and see the Commander."
Bran runs his fingers through his beard to make it especially disreputable.
The blood elf leads them over to the other end of the bunker, where a goblin with jackboot-black hair wearing a tight leather uniform paces, muttering to himself. The blood elf arranges the furs carefully on a nearby bench, and sets the fox-bag on top of them.
The goblin stops pacing to eye the pile.
The blood elf nods and goes back to his magazine.
“Zo,” says the goblin. “zese are ze newcomers Belloc spoke of. And you haf brought me… tributes? Vell, vell, vell. Perhaps you can be trusted after all. Zhere is much to be done in zis region.”
Ben nods and hooks a thumb into his sword belt. Unscrupulously, maybe.
Bran is just… staring at the goblin, squinting. Maybe trying to decipher his weird accent.
“Ve bose haf a burnink passion for ze ancient technologies here, do ve not? As you may know, zhere is a Titan obelisk in zis region; ve vish to activate it! But first — As you haf proven so competent, zere is somezink zerious I need handled. My most trusted advisor has run afoul of an ancient curse in zis place. A hex zat has transformed ze man into a turkey, of all zings!”
Auralind pinches her lips, a slight snicker spurting out.
Bran gently elbows Auralind
"Gesundheit," the goblin says to Auralind.
Ben blinks. Was that… Darnassian?
“I haf studied for days to discover a remedy for his condition, and finally I am ready to conduct ze ritual," the goblin says. "I reqvire several idols from ze nearby ruins.
“Also, my researcher Doctor Venkman vas vone of my greatest minds, until he had to be put out of my misery. He did leave me vis vone of his greatest accomplishments, zough.”
The goblin lifts from a nearby chest a peculiar looking hand-cannon with various tubes and wires snaking around it. “Against ze properly attuned supernatural adversary, zis veapon vill siphon ze target’s essence. It is of key importance in ze ritual I will be attemptink! Vile you are at ze ruins in ze east, you must collect zome for me.”
"Huh," says Bran.
Alysson, too, might have gotten lost somewhere in the accent.
"O… kay," says Ben. He steps forward to take the strange apparatus.
“Dismissed!” barks the goblin. Ben jumps a little.
The blood elf is waiting in front of the exit from the bunker. “One final thing,” he says, “as long as you’re headed that way….”
Bran sighs.
“We have a strict policy among our ranks that our troops are to dress in official uniform at all times,” the elf explains in bored tones. “This helps with organization, reduces friendly fire incidents, and keeps the troops looking sharp. We call it ‘Fashionism.’”
Bran blinks.
Ben eyes the elf and hefts the ghost-essence-cannon dubiously.
"It's… already a noun, lad, ye dinna need ta— " Bran just shuts up and shakes his head.
“We’ve been running low on uniforms lately, so while you’re in the eastern ruins, I must ask you to recover some from the soldiers that fell… ah, tragically” — the blood elf looks pious for a moment — “and bring them back here.”
Ben looks from Bran to the blood elf. "You want us to take clothes off dead fellows?"
"I want you to recover uniforms," the elf says haughtily.
"Very well," Auralind says with no small amount of irritation.
"Okay," says Ben. "Alysson, that's your job."
"So uh, he's good at the whole talkin' business, that goblin fellow," Alysson says.
"What kind of accent was that?" Ben asks when they land at the ruins. "That wasn't, like… Darnassian or somethin', was it?"
"Absolutely not," Bran says confidently.
"Draenei?" Alysson guesses.
"Draenei?" Ben guesses.
Are they… are they twins, now?
Alysson grins at Ben.
Bran frowns, then shrugs.
They spot a ghost lurking in the shadows of a ruin, and attack it. Before Ben can even ready the weird ghost-cannon thing, the ghost has been eradicated with some — perhaps extreme — force.
"I think we did that too quickly," Auralind says.
"Tha's what she said," Bran says cheerily.
Ben snorts a laugh.
"Who?" Auralind asks.
"Did what? That goblin fellow was so good at talkin', I didn't understand what he was sayin'!" Alysson says.
"We're supposed ta be siphonin' off some energy from the sperrets," says Bran.
"Yeah, the ghosts. We got to weaken 'em so I can hit 'em with the…." Ben gestures with the cannon.
"No, I mean who is 'she'?" Auralind clarifies.
Bran doesn't even bother.
Ben does not say, "Your mom," because he is an adult, even if an unscrupulous one.
Bran keeps stopping to sketch the enormous columns, etc.
"Say, d'you s'pose we'll get turkey cursed too?" Alysson asks, pulling the pants off some dead guy.
Auralind snickers aloud this time. "A turkey…."
Ben studies a little obsidian cat figurine he's lifted from the sand. He brushes it off. "You reckon we can take these back when he's done with 'em? They seem pretty historical."
"Aye, definitely!" says Bran.
"Is this one o' those, 'when he's done with 'em,' or a 'when we make 'im done with 'em?'" Alysson asks.
"I am eager to make him done," Auralind growls.
"Yeah," agrees Ben.
They wander the mazy ruins, scavenging idols and vacuuming ghosts. And, uh, denuding corpses.
"How's the undressin' goin', Alysson?" Ben calls.
Bran gives the various naked fashionists last rites.
Alysson dumps some sand out of a dead trooper's boots. "I was thinkin', the boots take up all the space in my bag, see, so what if I just wear all the uniforms back?" Alysson says.
"You are gonna get heatstroke is what. Probably also germs." Ben eyes him.
"I don't get germs," Alysson says. "I wear peoples' pants all the time."
"Uh." Ben eyes Alysson's pants.
"Pants are overrated," Bran observes amiably.
"What are ‘jerms’?" Auralind arches an eyebrow.
"Cooties," Alysson says to Auralind.
"They are like little bugs that live on you when you ain't wash," Ben tells Auralind. "Like lice. But smaller. Aunt Nir knows all about 'em."
"Smaller than lice?" Auralind frowns at the thought.
"How is yer… aunt these days?" Bran asks Ben.
Auralind hmms noncomittally. It's one thing to love and respect nature. It's another entirely to come to grips with bugs living ON oneself.
Ben nods. "Kind of creepy, yeah?" He is answering Auralind, not Bran. To Bran he says, "She is doin' good. Little Dane an' the clinic are keepin' her pretty on her toes, you know?"
"How's a dog statue gonna un-turkey a fellow, anyway?" Alysson asks.
Nobody has an answer for that, but, I mean. There are so many questions, here.
They head back toward Schnottz’s Landing.
"I canna imagine what havin' a bairn must be like fer an alchemist!" Bran shakes his head.
"Be… cause of… potions?" Ben looks perplexed.
"Guess she needs ta bottle everythin' up real tight an' remember where she put it all."
"Ohhh, yeah." Ben nods. "Well, that's Aunt Nir anyhow. She is real strict on that shit. When we was livin' together I put a bag of coffee in the side of the pantry with some herbs an' she about lost her shit with me." Ben pauses. "… but like in a nice way. An Aunt Nir way."
"Livin' alone is real useful sometimes," Bran chuckles. "I get ta just leave thengs wherever, an no one yells at me. Or gets poisoned," he adds.
"I mean, as long as you ain't get poisoned yourself, I reckon," Ben allows.
"Speakin' o' poison…" he eyes the Schnottzies.
Inside the bunker, the blood elf approaches them. "Well?"
"Once again, we did the theng," Bran informs the elf.
Ben nods to Alysson.
Alysson dumps a pile of clothes at Belloc's feet. Followed by shoes.
"Lot of naked dead fellows out in them ruins," Ben says. "In case, I dunno, someone wants to go get their remains for family or somethin'."
The blood elf eyes Ben. That may not have been sufficiently unscrupulous.
Ben spits on the floor again.
Good save.
The blood elf bends to lift a uniform shirt from the pile. He wrinkles his nose. "Eeeexcellent? Yes. These will have to be laundered."
"Like money?" Alysson asks.
The blood elf eyes Alysson. That probably was sufficiently unscrupulous.
Ben clears his throat. "Yeah, well, we got to see the Commander, so. 'Nother time, maybe."
"Some fellows do that, y'know?" Alysson whispers. "They wash their money. Sometimes by accident."
"What for?" Ben looks baffled. This sounds like Alysson nonsense.
Alysson shrugs. Weeeeird.
Commander Schnottz clears his throat. "YES. You haf done ze zings?"
Bran scribbles in his journal, in Dwarven. If you can read Dwarven, it's obviously a cipher of some kind.
"Oh. Uh. Yessir. That is. Yeah." Ben offers the ghost gun back. "An' some idols."
"We're done bustin' zhe ghosts," Alysson says, nodding.
The goblin peers at Alysson. "Vere from is your accent? I am not familiar vis it."
Alysson clears his throat. "It iz from zhe uh, Brown Dragonville."
Ben clears his throat and drops a sack of idols at the goblin's feet with a clatter. Schnottz jumps a little, startled, and then peers suspiciously at Alysson again. "I zee."
The goblin looks over the items and nods, rubbing his hands together. “At last! Ze time has come, zen, to set my trusted Gobbles free of zat nasty curse!”
He looks up at the squad. "Stay on guard! Zere can be NO interruptions vile I perform ze ritual. Check to be sure ze perimeter is secure, and zen tell me when it is ready."
"Okay," agrees Ben. He heads for the back door and manages not to step on the wandering Gobbles.
"I can definitely think o' better thengs ta be turned into," Bran observes, watching the turkey wander about.
"D'you think the turkey fellow can understand us right now?" Alysson asks, watching the turkey.
"Hey, sir? Sir?" Ben addresses the turkey.
It continues to wander, unperturbed.
Ben shrugs.
"What you reckon is better to turn into, sir?" Ben asks Brannagen. "Like, if you had to get turned into somethin'?"
"A gryphon!" Bran answers without hesitation.
Ben nods thoughtfully. "Yeah, reckon that would be okay."
"A dragon!" Alysson adds.
"Thinkin' big, Alysson, huh?" asks Ben.
"It's all in the name, see? Mondragon!" Alysson grins.
"Oh, yeah, you kind of got that sewed up right there." Ben nods. He turns to Auralind. "Auralind? What would you be?"
"Saber I bet!" Bran guesses.
"A lion," Aura says without hesitation.
Ben grins.
"Ohhhh, aye," Bran says, nodding.
Ben looks around them. "How do we know if it is secure?" he asks the others, low-voiced. "It's all goblins an' pirates an' shit out here. Is that secure?"
"It's the goblins an' pirates that're on their side, so aye," says Bran.
"You gotta answer too, Ben," Alysson says.
"Oh, uh." Ben thinks. "I would say a horse because they are majestic an' shit, but also they are prey animals, so prob'ly better to be a predator? Maybe, like, a hawk or somethin'. Can fly an' all." Ben nods.
"So we got a lion, a gryphon, a dragon an' a hawk," Alysson concludes.
Ben grins. "Anyhow. Reckon we go tell him it is good to go."
Ben clears his throat at Schnottz. "Sir? Perimeter is, y'know. Secure."
Bran prepares to take detailed notes on all of this business.
"Excellent!" says the goblin. "Ve begin!"
The goblin sets the salvaged tol’vir idols in a circle on the floor, and then draws a complex geometric pattern that connects them. The pattern shimmers and the lines blossom with violet shadow magic.
Bran sketches the weird ritual circle in his sketchbook.
Commander Schnottz yells: Oh, Gobbles! Ve're ready to begin! Come, come!
The turkey trots into the bunker — so maybe it can understand people, and just didn’t care to be addressed by Ben — and takes up position at the center of the circle.
Commander Schnottz incants an incantation and summons a beam of shadow energy. He channels it into the turkey in the ritual circle.
There is a POP! and a kind of appetizing savory smell, and the turkey in the circle is now abruptly ready for Pilgrim’s Bounty.
Commander Schnottz yells: VHAT!?
"Uh." Ben stares at the cooked turkey.
Commander Schnottz yells: Vhat could haf possibly gone vrong? I followed every lasht detail…
"He uh… just cooked," Alysson observes.
Auralind covers her mouth…to hide her amusement.
Bran has to cover his very large amusement with a very large hand.
The goblin stomps forward to reexamine his ritual circle.
Commander Schnottz yells: You only brought me eight idols!
"You only said…" Ben stares.
Commander Schnottz yells: Zhe ritual shpecifically calls for NINE!!
Commander Schnottz yells: NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE!!!
"Sorry about yer uh, friend there," Bran says as seriously as he can.
Commander Schnottz waves his arms furiously at the group. "NINE. Get out of my sight, you… turkey murderers! Go!"
"Whoops," Bran says casually, but goes.
Ben goes.
Outside the bunker…
"I'd like ta say that's the worst disaster I've been a part of," Bran says, his eyes twinkling, "but I work fer the Explorers' League, so."
Ben grins at Bran. "Yeah. So. Reckon that is all we got for today."
"Seems like more'n enough fer one day," Bran says, chuckling.
Auralind nods (somewhat distantly, as if she's not even there).
Auralind is mysteriously phased.
The blood elf leans out the doorway of the bunker. "PSSST."
Bran raises a shaggy orange brow at him.
Ben turns toward him. "Yeah? What?"
The blood elf smirks and rolls his eyes. "You have done us all a favor, friends. Gobbles was such an asshole. Even for a turkey."
Ben looks suspicious. "Did you…?"
The blood elf holds his hands up innocently. "Now I'm just saying — the Commander has a temper, but he'll cool off. I'll have a word with him. Come back in a few days and we'll cut you in on the operation, hm?"
"Mighty kind of ye," says Bran.
"So are you gonna… eat the turkey?" Alysson asks.
The blood elf shudders at Alysson. "Can you imagine? Gross." He vanishes back inside.
Bran bursts into uproarious laughter.