Fuzziness fills his senses, followed shortly by a light throbbing at the back of his head.
"Muhh… what..?"
Opening his eyes, he sees a tiled ceiling before him and off-pink partitions in his peripherals. Realizing he's lying back against a very hard and uncomfortable seat, he pushes himself into a slightly less awkward though considerably more comfortable position. He hears girlish gigglings and chatter past the stark door in front of him.
"Where am I?"
It only takes Will a moment to recognize his surroundings: a bathroom stall, the toilet under his rump serving as his resting spot. As he rubs his head the chattering beyond recedes and disappears completely with the soft shutting of a door. Feeling less blurry in the brain department he stiffly gets up, unlocks the stall door and cautiously steps out.
Most definitely the ladies room, he quickly affirms: wide, gaudy vanity mirror taking up the space above the sinks, and not a urinal in sight. A good thing he waited for those ladies to have left, he thinks, otherwise it would have been extremely awkward. Though that raises the next question in his noggin: why is he there?
Deciding that the ladies room wasn't the best place to crack that nugget, Will slips out of there. Past the door he is met with a privacy wall, and a few steps to the right brings him out on the outer edge of one of the slot areas. Everything is in lively order: levers clunking, machines blaring, chips jangling, and of course the near-deafening din of people having a good time. The banquet must be over the humble Jedi surmises, yet exactly how much time has passed? And where the heck is Sara?
As he goes looking for his wife he brushes and gets shoved by passing patrons. Every one of them seem wholly engrossed in whatever conversations they're having, for none of them take notice of the man going against them. And something about how they were talking strikes Will as being off, though he can't put his finger on exactly why.
He comes upon some familiar faces: the twin-headed, tall form of Search Man. But he's wearing security caps on both heads, and a vest like those of the staff. He might have been hired here Will briefly thinks, then remembers he saw the Robot Master earlier at the fairway playing the shooting booth. Odd.
Will goes up to the mechanical man and hails, "Hey Search Man. I don't suppose you happened to have seen Sara around?"
The bulky bot turns about and fixes both pairs of eyes on him. "Good evening, sir. How may I be of assistance?"
That response catches Will off-guard. "What, 'sir'? Dude, it's Will."
"I'm sorry, but what is your concern?"
"Uhhh, are you functioning alright, man?"
"Function is optimal. But you appear to be experiencing confusion, good guest. Perhaps I should escort you to a first aid station."
"What the fr—"
"There you are, buddy!"
A hand claps Will's shoulder, and he looks over to see Chris of all people, beaming like a frat boy.
"I figured I'd find you here, you burly rascal!" the frizzy-faced man continues, smiling all the while.
"Chris what the freak are you—?"
"It's so like you to just wander off like that. Always doing your own thing without a word—you're in serious danger; play along!—You really need to give me a heads up next time, pal." Looking at Search Man, Chris says, "The two of us are gonna find some drinks and hit the slots. You go about your work, officer."
"I shall. And continue enjoying your time here at Dionysus."
"We will, buh-bye~!"
Chris waves at the bot while tugging Will's shoulder to get him moving. Once they re-enter the flow of foot traffic and are well out of Search Man's gaze, Will says, "What was that about? What's going on?"
"Not so loud!" Chris replies in a harsh whisper. "We can't talk openly. Not out where they can see us."
"Who?"
"The staff, the guests, him." Chris grabs two drinks from a passing waitress and hands one to Will without slowing his step. "We gotta blend until we get to somewhere more secluded."
"I wish you could elaborate a little—"
"It's major trouble we're in, okay? Now drink, d*** you!" Will does so. "Look like you're having fun for God's sake. Loosen that step; smile; sag them shoulders; laugh a little." Chris lets out a forced chuckle that startles Will. "Just like everyone else. Those poor fools…"
"What about them?"
"They're brainwashed. You had to have noticed, right? Caught up in their own worlds, not at all like themselves. Check it."
Chris reaches out a hand and pinches the bottom of a passing blonde. She giggles flirtatiously before walking along nonplussed with her friend.
"You see? I should've been slapped all the way to Kessel for that stunt. Their brains are totally scrambled."
"You really need to explain things, man."
"And I will." Chris tips his drink over to the left. "Over in that maintenance alcove."
The two veer off from the bustle and over to an aperture that leads into a short hallway. There's some janitorial supplies but no living or mechanical soul.
"Alright. There are no cameras so we can relax," Chris states as he tosses his empty drink.
"Okay, what's going on, Chris? What the heck are you talking about with brainwashing and there being danger?" Will demands as Chris grabs his drink, finishes it and drops it to the floor.
"Let's start at the beginning," Chris begins. "What do you remember from the banquet?"
"Last thing I recall is dancing with Sara and the station owner singing a song. For some reason I don't know what happened after, except that I woke up in the women's restroom."
"That's because I knocked you out, and I put you there."
"You what?!"
"Explanation time: that Blue B****rd Bob has got everyone wrapped around his pointy witch fingers. Some kind of haze filled the air when he was belting that jive and everyone, and I mean everyone, got up to dance. Except for me. I knew something was up when Jennings wouldn't respond to me. That only happens when he's being possessed."
"How would you know? Oh, wait, you probably know more about him than any of us."
"Exactly. I also noticed that you were the only other person who wasn't getting into it. You appeared confused, bordering on frantic."
"I wasn't getting frantic—"
"Don't interrupt me. It was then I knew something had to be done. That if we were found out, we'd be in some deep shiz-nit. So I snuck up to ya, discreetly conked you out, and carried you away pretending you had a few too many. I needed to get you somewhere safe while I did some recon to figure out exactly what the h*** was going on."
"And your idea of keeping me safe was dumping me in the ladies' room?"
"It was the closest safe spot I could find. Besides, it'd be the last place anyone would look for you."
"...Okay I'll give you that."
"So, about what happened after: when I doubled back, Bob had amscrayed and everybody else had gone elsewhere. But no one went back to the hotel; it was completely deserted when I checked. Everybody on station is either out amusing themselves or 'working'. You saw what Search Man was doing? There's a bunch of people doing random things like him, all out of character and s***. Almost like they're temp agents, but they're all enthusiastic, so you know things aren't on the up-and-up."
"What's the sense in having just some people do random jobs instead of everyone?"
"...I have no flippin' clue. But it's weirding me out big time. Me, of all people. And not just that: some twenty minutes after everyone went loopy, the station entered hyperspace, which you would know if you had looked up. We've been in transit for nearly two hours, destination unknown. But I bet you dimes to nickelbacks that it can't be good wherever we're going."
"Okay. Big question: how come it's just us two who haven't been hypnotized?"
"Something about how you and I dying more than everyone else made our brains more resilient maybe? I dunno. It's as good an excuse as any to make this premise work."
"Huh?"
"Listen to me, Will: we have to take down The Big Bobowski. He's the only other guy who's stayed normal, so you know he's pulling everyone's strings. But it can't be done with just the two of us. We'll help. And by that, I mean Sara and the rest of the Jedi dream team."
"What, they're here?"
"Yeah. I pinpointed their locations after getting a rundown of the security, hiding spots and key access points. But it's just the OGs; the kids aren't here, for some doggone reason. Anyway, for the ones here, we can't shake/smack them awake. I tried it on some others, no dice. Not even loaded ones."
"So how do we snap them out of it?"
"With these." From his shirt Chris pulls out several plastic tubes with a red marking on their sides. "Something special R&D had been cooking up: an experimental anti-hallucinogenic serum that should remove any and all forms of subliminal control. It will knock out the patient and leave them slightly groggy and with a mild headache, if the symptoms section is to be believed. I only have seven of these, but that should be enough to save our buds and your darling dearest."
"Were you expecting something like this to happen?" Will asks, impressed with Chris' clairvoyance.
"No; I had thought they were adrenaline shots when I was pilfering our ship's medbay."
Will processes that a moment. "Whoa wait, why were you wanting adrenaline?"
"Hey, I party harder than most seabies; I wasn't gonna spend time just boozing at the bar. And just in case things got a little too wild, I wanted to be prepared."
"But seven shots worth?"
"It usually takes me awhile to know when to stop. And who are you to judge, with all those trilogy afterparties? You heroes get wild like the rest of us when the mood's right."
"Only I don't party hard enough to require resuscitation."
"Baaah we're getting off track! Are you in, Will? I need to know if you will help me in unf***ing what that dapper dino did to everyone."
Will considers for the briefest of seconds before shrugging. "Sure. Far weirder things have happened; liberating a station full of brainwashed civilians is pretty straightforward, honestly."
"Yeah, real easy to follow along." Chris looks this way. "Am I right?" After some silence, he nods and addresses Will. "There's no time to waste, so we're heading for the closest Jedi right now."
"Who would that be?"
"You'll see. And whatever doubts you have about what I just told you will be completely annihilated when we get there. Ohhh believe me."
Chris goes back the way they came, and Will nods before following suit, back out onto the casino floor to get this sudden rescue operation underway.
It proves to be a lengthy walk toward their first "target". A lot of meandering, waving, feigned laughs and courteous imbibing of free drinks takes close to twenty minutes, but eventually they make it to their destination: the bar and restaurant zone of the station.
It's all standing room for the diners and drinkers, but they don't seem to mind the slightest as they eat, drink and converse in incredibly high spirits. It gives Will the impression of Space Bourbon Street with how festive and energized this particular area is (blame it on the alcohol).
"How much further?" he asks Chris to get his mind back on the wily ginger pushing ever deeper into the feasting hoard.
"We're nearly there. Focus on not knocking over anyone's plates, unless you can pass it off as a prank."
"I sincerely hope for your sake this isn't some asinine detour to get you some harder liq—"
A loud burst of laughter cuts through the din, alerting Will moments before Chris halts him with an arm and nods forward. There, across the way within the confines of an open-air lounge, Will sees the first of his comrades in need of rescue. And his jaw just about hits the floor.
For it is none other than Joseph Webbol, Jedi Grand Master, surrounded by several dozen giggling, knock-out ladies of all flavors. The man himself is sitting in a fancy lounge chair and wearing a cream and yellow leisure suit that's practically blinding in its ostentatiousness. Not helped by how Jo keeps making gestures and expressions that paint him as an absolutely shameless playboy, which his fair entourage eats right up.
Will can only stare as all those women nudge one another to get Jo's attention, or pour him refills, or get a caress of his hand. It's a miracle he remembers to breathe.
"What did I tell ya? Think I'm making s*** up now?"
Chris' words bring Will back to the immediate moment, which is distressing enough as is. "How is this possible?"
"It's the hypno-waves, like I said. Makes those ladies highly suggestible, while simultaneously lowering their sense of self and standards. Thus they're very easily impressed and entertained."
The ladies quiet down as Jo begins telling a story. "So I walk up to the bartender and I say, 'What can I do here?', and he shrugs and tells me, 'Liquor in the front, poker in the back', so then I say, 'I mean what does this bar offer? And I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell me how to treat my date, good sir'."
A wave of giddy laughs from the girls would give one the impression that they had just heard the funniest and cleverest thing in their lives.
"You are a riot, Swankmaster Sims! That was hilarious!" one Twi'lek girl says from beside his shoulder.
"Hey, I wish I could tell you that I made that up, but life's funny like that, babe. Anyway, can I get me a refill? Any one of you will do."
As the women clamor to fill their beau's glass, Chris gets a questioning look from Will. "Swankmaster Sims?"
"Every casino has to have that one big-shot ladies man, and Bobbyginu must've figured Jo was the right fit."
"Unbelievable…"
"So you understand just how critical things have gotten, seeing the kind of bodacious Hell he's been ensconced in. But we can't just rush in there, inject him and take off."
"Because that'd tip off Bob about us not being under control and he'd have security on us."
"Precisely. Glad you're keeping up; you're nowhere as slow as your looks would suggest."
"Oh flip off you a**."
"Some other time. Right now, we need to get up to Jo discreetly in order to use one of these injectors. The serum has to be injected for it to actually work, otherwise we could've slipped the stuff into one of his drinks."
"Dude."
"What? That kind of risk runs both ways when you're hitting the club scene."
"So how do you propose we get close enough to inject him?"
"Not 'we': you."
"Whuh?"
"You're going to get over there and enter his inner circle, by which I mean you're going to ask him for dating advice."
"What? Why me? And just 'why' overall?"
"Hate to burst your bubble, but apart from Stan, you look the most hopeless in the matter of picking up girls. As to the overall part, these kinds of personalities always seek out ways to show off how amazing and attractive they are, and nothing quite draws adoration like helping poor saps with their game. A kind of self-centered magnanimity that appeals to the most elite douchebags."
"So, you want me to just go and straight up ask him? What if says no?"
"He'll risk losing face if he turns down a sincere request from a sorry soul. Plus for that kind of ego, some dating tips wouldn't be a bother."
"Right."
"But you have to appear earnest about learning his ways. Be attentive, steadily gain his trust, be a pal. Then once you're in like Flynn, that'll be the time to strike."
"And where are you gonna be during all that?"
"Just off to the side and out of sight, but don't worry. I'll swoop in once the moment's right."
"Okay. Just hope that won't be too long."
"It won't. Now, go get 'em!"
Will gets an encouraging shove out from the crowd, and shaking his head the Jedi moves toward the gaggle of giggling gals.
Jo's in the middle of sipping a beverage as Will approaches him, and makes a welcoming smile as he lowers his glass. "Well howdy hi there, fella! What's got you entering my orbit of honey delight?"
"Maybe he wants to buy one of us a drink?" speculates a tressed-up Jordan (bet you've forgotten about her, eh?).
"Or ask one of us out?" suggests a tanned damsel.
"Well we're already taken. Tough luck, bud, *snort*," a busty Gamorrean taunts airily.
"No, I wouldn't, uh, even think of ta—"
"Now now, ladies, ease up on the guy. We're all gravy in this good-time train, you hear?"
"Yes, Swankmaster Sims!" the ladies say as one, making Will shudder. But he soldiers on, as it's not the most unsettling thing he bore witness to.
"Yeah, so, I came by hoping you could give me some advice. On, uh, how to pick up girls. Because I'm really bad at it… on account of being awkward. Like, super awkward. And also really uncomfortable with, uh, doing it."
"That's for sure."
"What'd I say about us being gravy, babe?" With the vixen shutting her yap, Jo, or rather Swankmaster Sims, refocuses on Will. "So you're looking for help on improving your swagger? Well, far be it from me to deny an enthusiast of the romantic arts some much-needed aid. I'm not so entrenched in smooth living and earthly delights to be so deaf to my fellow man. Speaking of which: ladies, go take a powder. Imma need ten minutes to get my new friend here up to snuff."
The ladies giggle and depart like morning mist without objection, leaving Will and the casanova alone.
"I didn't want you feeling too nervous to absorb my lessons, you understand," the woo meister says, getting up from his chair. "And a good drink also helps toss out those mental sandbags. Come this way; I'll treat ya."
That was really easy, Will thinks as he follows his brainwashed friend to the closest bar. Jo plants himself on a stool, and Will joins him as a P'w'eck bartender comes up.
"Screwdriver for me barman, and a mint julep for my pal here." The lizard nods, spins about and plants the drinks on the bar top instantaneously. Taking his beverage in hand, Jo swivels to the side. "Alright, now that we're all cozied up, tell me your history. Not your life history, just your dating one. A general overview is fine; you don't need to give me the full play-by-play if you don't wanna."
Will picks up his fancy drink and shakes it with some disdain before replying. "There really isn't much to say if I'm being honest, er, Swankmaster—"
"Please, call me plain Sims. We're friends here, like I said."
"Right. Well, truthfully, I don't get out often. I typically don't feel the need to go out and mingle. But uh, when I do try getting with someone, just to know them, I get shot down. And I'm not trying to lay it on thick or anything; I just cannot start a conversation. It's super discouraging and embarrassing and, I dunno, makes me seem like a hopeless case. I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong."
"I see, I see. Well let me be upfront with ya, chum: you're doing yourself no favors going out just 'occasionally'. You need to take every opportunity you can to get out and expose yourself, make yourself more sociable. You can't expect to be the life of the party the moment you walk in, especially if you're practically a ghost. And it's the only way you can build up your confidence while also smoothing out those communication hiccups. The art of the mack is really no different from exercise or painting or learning an instrument: the more you do it, the better you get at it. Unless you're a natural-born talent like myself, but let's face it: hardly anyone's that lucky.
"Secondly, you can't just foist yourself on a honey and expect fireworks to pop. You gotta go in easy and smooth. Think of it as talking to a stranger at the library or work or whatever. The most surefire way to break the ice is by treating the conversation like no big deal. But don't be all cocky about it; again, just like your usual friends-only get-together. Though don't get too friendly, lest you run the risk of sounding like a creep."
Wow, legitimately good dating advice… coming from Jo of all people! It just gets more surreal by the second. "That all sounds really useful, Sims. I just have to remember to try it out sometime."
"Why wait? There's no better time to practice than the present, especially with so many hotties lined up for the picking."
"R-really? Uh, then, I don't know where to begin."
"Well don't go stressing yourself cuz it's real easy. You just gotta start out small, steadily work your way up to the big leagues. By that, I mean seek out your average Jane. The kind of gal you see everyday on the street or coffeehouse or whatnot. Like that little number over there."
Jo tips his drink, and Will looks across the lounge to see the back of an average height woman with wild red hair and wearing a purple corset and dress skirt combo, the sort of fashion more associated with ye olden dusty saloons. The odd ensemble doesn't seem worthy of the pick-up artist's attention, though.
"Right away you can tell from her body language that she's alone, wanting company but too shy to seek it out. And lucky for her, we're gonna provide it. Just follow along and watch real closely how I set her up."
Jo downs his drink and slides the glass down the bar, then gets up and struts over the floor like a swan on water, Will following at a less pompous pace. Once by the lady's shoulder, the Swankmaster assumes a stance of domineering yet desirable male presence. "Pardon me, miss, but I wanted to say your dress is quite eye-catching."
"Oh this old thing? That's awfully sweet of you to say."
The deep-voiced lady turns, revealing the freckled, bespectacled face of Chris, still bearded and mustached but also sporting fake eyelashes and a thick, garish coating of lipstick. Being the seasoned professional he is, Will keeps his peace, but you can bet your bagels he's screaming as high as the mountains in his head. If you want an idea of what that sounds like, look up the clip of the screaming sailor from "The Monster That Challenged the World."
However, this reveal also doesn't register Jo's attention. "I'm only being honest; I'm not one to use empty compliments."
"Ah, much like the fabled sailor bearing gifts from far away."
"You're familiar with Looking Glass? Impeccable taste in music as well as fashion."
"Oooh hoo hoo hoo, you flatterer you!" Chris "giggles" as "she" brings out a folding fan to fan himself daintily. Jo looks aside, bobbing his head with a grin and a wink at Will, who keeps stone-faced in order to hold down his lunch.
"Where do you hail from if I may humbly ask, dear miss?" Jo continues in casual style.
"I come from Gnomia, fair sir."
"Ah, of the Dawarvian Sector? I should've known from the luster of your beard. You're rather tall for someone from those parts, I must say. No offense meant."
"None taken. But yes, my height has made me quite ostracized there, so I'm in something of a self-imposed exile, wandering the galaxy and broadening my horizons, that sort of thing."
"Well I hope you've found safe harbor with this particular watering hole."
"Oh absolutely, especially when there's kind gentlemen like yourself making me feel welcome and wanted."
"Just making small talk, ma'am."
"Please, call me Christina."
"Swankmaster Sims, or just plain Sims."
Will gags slightly as Chris sidles up to Jo, putting away the fan so they're seeing eye-to-eye. "You know, SS, it does get awful lonely traveling by myself, never staying for long at whatever port I wind up in. The festivities of this place are meaningless to me as I have no one to share it with."
"Yes: nothing quite stings like being at a loss for company. But I happen to know somebody else feeling just as at a loss as yourself, and who would be happy to make your acquaintance."
"Oh, but I appear to be in good enough company as is." Chris raises a frilly-gloved hand and caresses the front of Jo's suit. "I don't see any reason to add a third wheel."
"You know how the saying goes: the more the merrier."
"Yet I'm feeling merry enough." Chris leans forward and huskily asks, "The question is: are you feeling just as merry?"
"If you really wanna know…" Suddenly Jo wraps an arm around the "madam's" waist, twists and dips "her" over so that his face hovers over "hers". "I feel like I'm walking on air."
"Oh my, such suave audacity. My kind of pace, good Swankmaster." Chris hefts himself up so that he's only a little slanted in the playa's grasp. "Hopefully you have the stamina to keep it going."
"For a lady like yourself, it would be unthinkable to disappoint you."
"What confidence. But, as another age-old saying goes: there's a first time for everything."
There's the slight hiss of an injector, and the Swankmaster's eyes flutter then close as he slumps forward. Chris hurries to hold him up after palming the spent injector. "Oh no! It appears I was too much woman for you to handle and you went and fainted," he cries in dramatic fashion, then looking at Will, "Could you kindly help me, sir? This poor gent is awful heavy for me."
Will slides over and takes one of the unconscious Grand Master's arms, and together the two carry him out of the lounge while Chris announces their departure. "Silly old Sims and his drinks. Just got to get you someplace quieter so you can freshen up all peachy-keechy." After they get to the next bar, the general looks over with a smug grin, speaking in lower tones and ditching the act. "You see? Just buy into their charms a bit and you'll have them wrapped around your finger almost instantly."
"Why did you need me when you could've just done that in the first place?"
"I needed you to get rid of the others and buy some time while I got this dress on. The corset was a right b***h to do alone, let me tell ya."
"I'm honestly amazed you got all that on so quickly. Also… just when I had thought you couldn't say or do anything to further traumatize me, you go and prove me wrong."
"Just shows that I'm still a man of surprises. Now come on, we need to clear out. Make sure to jostle him a bit to make him look somewhat awake."
The pair shuffle away with doped Jedi in tow, and so the legend of Swankmaster Sims ends as abruptly as it had begun.