Back to the Archive.
[The Scene: Visionary is just completing his multi-part adventure with the slave girls from the planet Caph. He's gone back to their planet with a few friends to conduct this ceremony that officially transfers ownership of these nine young women to the Manga Shoggoth. Not because this is an adolescent male power sex fantasy you understand. That's not why everybody wants to read about these beautiful almost-naked green-skinned babes. Oh no. People only read them for the articles.
Sorry, where were we? Oh yes, on Caph, while Vizh goes wrestling a rabid polecat or something, for reasons that have to do with Fleabot's sense of humour. Fleabot is Vizh's robotic flea companion, that doesn't get on will with his lawyer friend/enemy's clone that was made by her wicked cow-headed half-sister who... look, just read it all in the Who's Who in the Parodyverse will you? Or better yet look at Manga Shoggoth's Caphan Archive. Otherwise this is going to make even less sense that it would otherwise.
All strapped in? Know your Asils from your Kerries? Fully up to date on why Visionary is possibly fake and what happens when he blinks out of the Parodyverse (as he does sometimes when we're not paying attention). Understand why spiffy is to blame for everything? Then let's go, and if you get confused just e-mail Nats or AG. Okay? Or maybe DK. I think maybe he could use a little more human contact ;-)
So, as we were saying, The Scene: Along the beach from the Vina Drea. Sarah Shepherdson, Probability Dancer and superstar-in-waiting has wandered off during the ritual Declaration of Feats, where Vizh has to list all the accomplishments of his warrior career. Already there's a fist-fight broken out between Asil and Kerry, and Vizh is still at the "Um..." stage of his declaration. Trickshot and Nats' suggestions about Vizh's warrior feats are not being helpful, and Yo is disallowing them on the grounds of physical impossibility.]
Dancer: This is a rather pleasant planet for sunbathing. There does not seem to be anyone around. Maybe it will be okay to slip my top off.
Drokk, Caphan Overlord: Ho! Wench!
Dancer: Yep, that usually works to summon random men from the bushes.
Drokk: Hold! Who are you, slave woman, and of what House?
Dancer: Well, since you asked I'm not a slave, and I'm Gemini. You?
Drokk: Not a slave? You meant that you are... disowned?
Dancer: Well, mum was a bit cross about the wedding with Manny being annulled, what with the subsequent lack of grandchildren to be corrupted into the ways of Neighbours-watching and bingo, but I think she's talking to me again.
Drokk: You have no master? None to instruct your path nor ensure you live a full and productive existence?
Dancer: I work for Mr Papadapopolis, if that's what you mean. But he's not my master. He's an old sweetie. Except when his humus allergy plays up.
Drokk: Then you master loans or rents out your services to this Mr Papa...what you said? Your carnal delights are available to those who make an accommodation with your owner?
Dancer: My carnal delights are not available until at least the second date unless I get a little bit tiddly on the vino and then it's only because men are advantage-taking slime. And I am not anybody's property. I have many Cosmopolitan magazines stacked in my bathroom that assure me so.
Drokk, smiling a little bit nastily: So... you really have no master. You are entirely defenceless.
Dancer: Apart from a biting wit, the ability to hammer low-tipping bottom-pinchers through partition walls, and being the Herald of Galactivac the Living Death that Sucks, yes.
Drokk, like all men only hearing the bit he wants to hear: Then I claim you as mine, rogue wench. Come hither and service your master, on pain of, er, pain.
Dancer: Listen buster, if I come hither it'll be to give you such a whack on the side of your head that you'll be wearing that offensive smirk on your backside.
Drokk: Weak and feeble female. You are helpless before my will!
Dancer: Okay, I can see we're not going to resolve this scene without some groinal injury motif. Bring it on.
Drokk: Tremble and cower!
Dancer: Stuff and nonsense. Oh, and if you try uncoiling that whip you'll find it much harder to do it after I've wedged it where you don't photosynthesise.
[Suddenly, Drokk's hunting party emerge from the lush undergrowth. There's about fifty men on big sleek hunting lizards.]
Drokk: Seize the wench!
Dancer: Wait! Time out! There's quite a lot of you, you know!
Drokk: Hah! Now you see the futility of resisting Drokk the Magnificent.
Dancer: Oh for sure. I mean, fifty to one, what are the odds for little me kicking every single one of your asses into the ocean? But, er, if you're going to stake a claim on me, what about my other unclaimed hot women friends? The ones just up the beach? Shouldn't you be claiming them as well?
Drokk: Other... unclaimed... hot...? Yes. I claim you all, ownerless wench! Oh yes. They too are now ours! [smirks round at his hunting buddies] It's good to share.
Dancer: Thought so. [Flicks out Lair Legion commcard] Hey, Yo, hi. Listen, you want to just wander down the beach a ways and bring Asil, Kerry, and Lisa with you? Definitely bring Lisa. And maybe C'thandra?
Yo: Is to be having to be quick, cute Dancer. Is soon to be bit where Visi is straddling of the cute-thrashing clawing bobcat and extolling of the girls' virtues in iambic pentametering. Yo is not wanting to be missing of that part of ceremony.
Dancer: Hey, this won't take long. *glances at Drokk and the boys * It's good to share...
