She glances outside at the warped superhero still producing white or grey matter from his bucket. Like magic; another isolated superpower. But the meeting needs to come to order.
“Here here!” she cries, waving her monstrous red hands before the group. “We’ll have to start without him, ahem. We are — at the place Grey Scale can’t reach thanks to Cpt. Americus and, um, perhaps Chicken Itza — we’ll see. The chickens cluck, the cocks are eaten. Crows flies, uh.”
“We understand,” spoke aiding Norton Wise Turtle (alternately Wise Norton Turtle) from the corner, likewise nursing a blue-green martini. Nursing it to death.
“Fish Head!” she prompted. “Give us a report.”
“Water,” Fish Head bubbled and gurgled opposite Norton Wise Turtle. He also had a blue martini, locally called a Blue William, which he poured into his fish head bowl intermittently. “Fish,” he added just as gurgly. “Scale — working for.”
“Excellent. Good information. How about you Flat Tire?”
But Flat Tire Crow Flies hadn’t rezzed in yet. Just a colorful mist still.
“Never mind, then,” spoke the queen after silence. *Former* queen. “And then: Space Ghost. My old friend. One of my oldest friends.”
“I’ll never leave this land,” Space Ghost reinforced, having already nursed an empty wine glass. To death. “This land is my land and this land is your land.” He pointed around the room. “Each and every one of you.” He settles back in his chair. “If you so choose.”
“Thank you. Anything to add Wise Norton Turtle?” Norton Wise Turtle took the last swig of his drink and states, “That’s all. I believe we’re at The End.”
And he was correct.
Sunklands 