Stan swayed as he staggered back into the Nightmare Dimension. Earlier, he had some trouble starting up his transportulator thingamajig to take him to the horrific realm he called home. Several bottles already lay scattered by his feet on the floor. He had just made a quick little trip to the Bar Zone, as he nicknamed it, to grab another, undrunk bottle. He prided himself as one of the "demons" who could hold their alcohol, as well as be more or less of a teetotaler. However, unfortunately for himself, once he actually started to drink, he had quite the hard time stopping. Slightly stumbling over to the small turntable he took after nearly destroying another dimension (he snatched it as a trophy), he put in a record. He wasn't exactly sure whether or not the song was one he liked, let alone the name. All that he truthfully knew was that the genre was blues.
He sighed as the music wafted over him. Half known memories drifted softly and some lingered fleetingly, he knew nothing yet everything as his mind flowed. Shaking, he set down the bottle he held in his left hand, having long since drained it. He was only semi aware that he had also changed the record. An upbeat tune began, and he hummed loudly along to it. Soon, Pyronica knocked on his door, then entered without him responding.
"Ya know," she promptly began, flopping down on Stan's bed. "Bill ain't gonna be happy when he finds out you got yourself wasted."
"To be completely honest," Stan retorted, "I couldn't care less at this point."
"Sounds about Pirana-ish!" she giggled, brushing some hair from her eye. "Although Kryptos might say it sounds, ya know, fishy ?"
"That was a terrible pun on my name," the 'pirana' grumbled. His hand itched for his gun, but he restrained himself. Barely. He grinned."Why're ya here, ya fiery chick? Wanna test the waters? Or have a bite of fillet?"
"Well, I, um…" Pyronica stuttered as she blushed. Normally, the Henchmaniacs never acted so… so amorously. It was a pleasant, if not jarring, change. "Not tonight…."
"Ah, well ya can't get 'em every time," he chuckled. He took a quick swig, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Well? Did Teeth get any leads on the infamous Author?"
"No, and Bill wasn't happy, not at all," the fire demon sighed and shuddered. "He removed all his teeth, one by one, then put them each back."
"Makes sense," Stan stated. "Well, if you're gonna stay 'ere, ya might as well pick the next song."
She picked a hip hop beat, and gasped, surprised, as Stan took her by the arm and twirled her around. He energetically danced with her, and she barely managed to keep the pace. When the song hit the final keys, Pyronica found that she was beyond breathless and so dizzy the room tilted.
Originally, when Stanley first joined Bill and the Henchmaniacs, the rather young pyrokinetic gal thought snidely of him, expecting that he'd fail miserably as one of them. Therefore, it was natural that she and the others would be stunned by Stan's performance in his very first mission. It was a futile quest Bill had sent him on, a task bound for failure. After all, capturing Stanford Pines is an achievement few can even dream of. He ended up coming so close, hand outstretched to grasp the billowing grey trench coat, until that drunken idiot Sanchez opened a portal, whisking himself and the elusive Author to another dimension.
"Hey, P?" Stan said, tilting his head and waving a hand in front of her face. "Ya with me?"
"Hmm?" She responded dumbly. He chuckled, she blushed. "Sorry, I got lost in thought."
"Don't worry about it, Harmonica," Stan laughed, especially at her startled yet positive reaction to the nickname. "It happens to the best of us."
"Even you?" Pyronica questioned teasingly, giving the newer demon a light nudge. His expression suddenly went very… blank. "Pir… Piraña?"
"Especially me," he murmured, eye closing for a small instant, before snapping open with a smirk. "But probably not the lovely thoughts that a lady like yourself imagines at night."
She turned red again at the thought. It was nigh impossible to ever catch a demon using Stan's lexicon, fewer in his style, and even less with his natural charismatic attitude. A snap-snap-tap returned the two to their senses.
"Gotta go," Pyronica sighed, "Bill's coming."
Stan nodded, grinned, and held out a hand to the flame demon. Blushing, she took it, and he led her out of the room, just as any gentleman might. Doing a quick calculation, Stan paused, then decided to escort Pyronica all the way to the demoness's room. Bowing as she entered her room, he politely waited for her to close her door before smirking and taking another bottle of liquor out of his pocket. He returned to his own room with a hop and swagger in his step, whistling out a half known rhythm. No sooner had he re-entered the doorway, Bill floated through the ceiling. Stan click-winked at the yellow triangle, causing him to sigh.
"Why're you drunk, Fish?" he groaned.
"'Cause I wanna be," Stanley replied, nonchalant. "Got a problem with a demon being a demon?"
"No."
"Then what's the problem," Stan waltzed across the room and grinned. "No harm done, right?"
"Riiiiiiiiiiiight," Bill said in response, slow and questioning. "This isn't going to become a habit though. Okay?"
"You got it, boss!" the new demon chirped. Literally. "I'll be up and running tomorrow and the such."
"You better," Bill muttered, and drifted out of the room.
As soon as the last glow from Bill faded, Stan's facade dropped faster than lead in water. His shoulders slumped, his smile vanished, his cheer washed away in the waves. Exhaling heavily, he rose a hand to his forehead and plunked himself down on his bed. There… there was something the others hadn't seen on that fateful day, his encounter with the author. As he was about to capture him, something caught his eye. It was a subtle detail, and no-one would have really noticed it. The man had six fingers. The moment he saw that, red sirens went off in his head. Something had been terribly off, something was colossally wrong, something was… missing. But he knew one thing had to be done. When the pilot, or scientist, or whoever the heck that white lab coat guy was, opened the portal, he pushed. He pushed the author though it, essentially… saving his life. On purpose. With a tired groan, Stan fell back on the bed, closing his eyes, trying to discover why in the multiverse he had done that.
In a half remembered thought, in a whispering shout, the half-answer half-question came to him with a frowning smile, it meant everything and nothing.
"Sixer."