AN: hi, i'm new to this so uh, any errors or tips on improving my writing would mean a lot, if you have any questions or something feel free to ask

The Cube was one of Skip's favorite places to go to during rough times. Even though he didn't need to eat or drink, Whistler's drinks were some of the best he'd ever had. The best part about the Cube? It wasn't too popular, so there wasn't much chance of bumping into anyone he knew. Sometimes lowlifes would go there looking for a fight, and while Skip wasn't one to get in fights, feeding off the rage and fear was a nice way for a quick meal, and it always came as a pleasant surprise.

But this time, Skip wasn't happily pondering what sort of fight might be going down. No, he'd just failed in conquering Club Penguin, which came as a major blow to his ego. Kiddie dimensions were known for being difficult to conquer, but how hard could it be? Very hard, as he'd recently learned.

Skip slammed down his empty cup. "So that's my situation, Whistler. You get my struggle?"

"Sounds harsh, buddy," Whistler said, idly polishing one of the bar's fancy glasses. "You done with your drink?"

"Yeah," Skip said, handing Whistler the cup. "I hope the cups aren't taking up too much space in the back."

"Nah, nah, it's fine, buddy. Lotta patrons have been askin' for 'em lately, don'tcha know. Easier to slam dramatically than glasses, and all."

Whistler looked like a cute, stereotypical bedsheet ghost, except she had a little bowtie on to keep a sort of barkeep look to herself. The only reason she was able to run the Cube alone without having it torn to shambles was that under her "bedsheet," she had a violent, self-controlled plasma ball that she could use like a gun if fights ever got out of hand.

"Thanks for hearing me out, Whistler. But do you have any ideas on how I can beat those stupid penguins?"

Whistler began polishing Skip's cup. "You know I'm not a conquering type, Skipper."

Skip smiled a bit at the nickname. "Well, yeah, but you're still pretty smart. I mean, you've been able to run an interdimensional bar for, what, 20 billion years now? And there haven't been any big incidents in eons!"

"Runnin' a respectable bar and conquerin' dimensions for status are two really different things, Skip. But, uh, I think I've got an idea."

"What is it?" Skip asked, leaning over the counter a little.

"You said Club Penguin's one of those video game places, right? Where the player gets to solve the problems all the time?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Well, uh, what if you just kept your plan among the non-player characters? Like private bidness, y'know," Whistler said, soon whistling a repetitive melody she liked.

Skip's eyes lit up. That sounded so simple! Instead of fooling players, why not fool the mascots? Pure genius! Even if they got players involved (like they usually did), he could at least traumatize one and do some damage, maybe. But there was a small hole in that plan.

"How the heck am I gonna do that?"

Whistler stopped whistling and gave Skip a tired look. "I'm not a god, Skipper. Or a genius. Can't ya just shapeshift into some new form and join the, uh, what'd you call it..."

"The EPF?"

"Yeah, yeah, that."

Skip put his elbows on the table and pouted, or at least tried to pout with his weird jagged lips. "That'd take work, and it was already work enough to convince everyone at the Puffle Hotel that I was a hardworking Club Penguin citizen the first time. Convincing experienced agents and detectives and stuff? Blegh."

"Well geez, Skip!" Whistler finished cleaning Skip's cup, and set to work preparing a drink that'd been ordered earlier. "You've got me stumped! What's the easiest dang way you can trick NPCs without setting off any cop alarms? Turning into a piffle or whatever you called 'em?"

Skip glowered a bit. "They're puffles."

Whistler sighed and finished pouring the elaborate cocktail and passed it to its respective patron, a floating hexagon with a top hat and mustache. "You're on your own, buddy. Maybe do that, uh, hiding-out-in-their-minds thing you did a couple millennia ago?"

Skip immediately sat up. Possession, an oldie but a goldie. How had he not thought of it before? Possess an agent, or a puffle or something, then hide out and take control once he had enough knowledge. It could totally work!

"Oh my God, Whistler, you're a genius."

"Shucks, Skips. I'd be blushin' if I could."

Skip was literally glowing with excitement. "Seriously, though, thanks! Good drinks, as always." Skip took off his hat and reached into it, quickly taking out a small block of gold and handing it to Whistler. "This is my last one, but you deserve it, Whistles. You're a soulsaver!" Skip took off out the bar's exit.

Whistler quickly took the gold block and stashed it in the huge, old-fashioned register. "Hey, Hectorgon. Y'see that spectre that just flew out?"

Hectorgon nodded.

"He's one of the dumbest, most stubbornest, sorriest ghouls I know."