Baker Bloch and Wheeler were the first to arrive. Baker came as Steptoe Butte, the only “costume” he owned besides the Space Ghost one, which he thought would be too obvious. Wheeler came as… well, let’s just tune into the conversation, shall we?
“I’ll cut you off at the Bowie picture, Wheeler.”
“Well… what are you going to put there, then? You can’t leave it blank for the party. What’ll it be, old crook Hayes or new crook Nixon? You’re wrong about Hayes, by the way. It was Grant who was the real asshole. Hayes is the one who ended all that asshole-i-ness. The great 3-n-1 he is. At least in the dimension I prefer to view him… attached to.” She tried to think of a better way to put that and became silent.
“Ahh, Hucka Doobie my old man. Er, woman,” Baker calls as he turns to the door. You came as yourself in the past, I see.”
“Lest anyone forget,” she said. “I was bee through and through at the beginning.”
“Along those lines, I have a surprise for you a bit later in the party, Hucka Doobie,” Wheeler offered. “And — welcome as well. But first I have to run over to BoB to take some pictures of myself. I’ll be back shortly.” Wheeler vanishes.
“Greetings Syd Barrett,” Hucka Doobie, says upon meeting the flattie at the line between the old Edwardston Building and Small Gothic Castle. “See you’re still a man on the border, eh?”
“Hold out your right hand,” a non-amused Syd Barrett Gothic responds blankly, then stamps it with a blue feather.
“Thanks Syd.” She walks over to Baker.
“So I see we’re going to have some action tonight,” she says, staring with Baker at what town residents have begun calling the Squared Circle.
“Yup. It’s the contest for Collagesity as a whole.”
“Again,” Hucka Doobie tags on.