Why did he switch chairs? he thinks, staring over at the weapon wielding Dinner Girl. It made his stomach turn just thinking about it! But he wasn’t in the direct line of fire. Not quite. He knew who was. History was repeating itself. But first to the other.
“Blue Berry Girl,” Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer addressed, turning to his left and prying his eyes away from the huge barrel of a gun pointed kind of right at him. 1/2 and 1/2 (oh boy). “We were expecting someone else.”
“I know. She couldn’t make it. Stomach ache, let’s say. No: let’s go with flu.”
“Has she been tested?” Dr. Baumbeer was all about testing. Because it could be one thing but it could also be another. You couldn’t know without the test. Baumbeer sneezed here, but not in his arm. In the air. The girls stared at him. Had he inadvertently infected everyone in the room? His stomach was hurting after all, although he chalked that up to the nerves of the present situation, with the gun and all. But maybe it was the other thing. He better get to the point and have a test himself. He has to see this through first.
“Um hmmmmm,” she answered haughtily. She lowers the gun a bit. She’s lightening up and becoming less tense. Baumbeer’s shoulders sag, a relaxing exercise he’d learned long ago back in mummy embalming school in Egypt. He trained with the best. It was an Illuminati run campus after all, pyramids all around. And here he is. Still in the middle. A good place to be post-mortem.
“Tell me 5 things you love about Supper.”
When she answered food items instead, Baumbeer knew he was in trouble. The gun was raised again. She wasn’t taking this seriously. Because she was here to kill someone and that alone and he wasn’t here in the moment. Someone had come to life too soon with his Neptune style blonde hair and all and was foiling everything they had tried to accomplished in Our Second Lyfe. Which was to suppress the dead; keep them in their grave. No red meat for any of ’em.
(to be continued?)
The next night, Toothpick remained in the Red Rose, whatever the Red Rose turned out to be. In the moment it was a counseling center. “Alright I’ll bite. Who *are* you guys?”
“You know who we are. *Aqua-boy*. You with your Neptune hair, albeit a try out. You’re Neptune. You sit in the green chair representing the Neptune sim I mean by that. I never sit in that chair any more. Not since…” The reborn, half rabbit/half bat Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer, a psychiatrist originally specializing in bodily fluids back in the days, trailed off here, unable to complete his sentence. Toothpick helped him out.
“Alcatraz? Gettysburg?” He was trying too hard. Settle down, Toothpick. Your nerves are shot. You’re getting married to your sister Sunday after tomorrow’s next Tuesday! It was wrong and both knew it, even though it was right by their culture, their upbringing. She should be sitting here opposite him, he realized. That’s Elberta’s chair over there, the red one. But she’s blonde like me. I saw her change. Toothpick again thinks she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid his wonky, mismatched eyes upon. Darn that she’s my sister! Just my luck. “I have bad luck,” he says to the others after the settle down.
“We all have bad luck,” chips in Supper Man to his other side, still holding his stomach from eating all that food. If he could cut back on the red meat at least… Toothpick realizes something else in his psychic, post-mortem ways. *He* has a better half that should be sitting opposite *him* in this meeting. Toothpick asks him about her without giving away too much.
“Dinner,” he names. “Dinner Girl. Soon to be…” He faded here, unable to complete his sentence. His stomach hurt too much from the perpetual supper he’s always downing bite after bite. He’s getting pudgy… finally. Soon he’ll be a round ball of blubber if the Corona pirates keep storing all that food in his pantry much longer.
“She’s your sister,” tries Toothpick. Wrong again.
Dr. Baumbeer senses it is time for the meeting to start in earnest. Time to bring in the girls.
(to be continued?)