The Dookster approached Joanna Nu tenattatively.
"Hello" said the Count "and you must be.."
"The Milk-Eyed Mender" said Joanna.
"Well I could hardly not.. notice.. your milk. Eyes. Obviously. Very wet. and Milky."
"…"
"Anyways would you like to continue this.. simulating conversation at a bar? I know a place with killer mozeralla"
"Ys"
At the bar several robots were present, which was fine. They drank motor oil and swore about the stock market. Also a tuskan raider did a rather friendly jig around a combination active lightsaber / stripper pole. It was singing her robes a lot and the bar smelled like fire… and lust. Which is a separate flavor of firesmell. (hatred is wet)
To deal with his pre-coital jitters the Count had taken a deathstick in the toilet, and the date was not going well. For one, Joanna New had a deceptively elfish voice that was hard to hear over the Nu-Metal blaring from the jukebox, but which would go well with a lute. And for two, he had rudely insinuated that a 70% marginal tax rate on Billionaires was unreasonable even though similar legislation was passed in the fifties—Joanna was too woke to be impressed by such an oafish blunder.. and excused herself to leave.
"wait, what about our bills, you cant close out now!" whined the Duke, his head abuzz with the death throes of deathstick juice.
"Have One on Me" Joanna Newsome said as she tossed some credit chips on the floor and marched out.
"Alas and alak" opined the duke sweetly as he started his comedown. "she truly is the fairest maiden of the desert.. of my heart"
"Cheer up old friend" came a voice from across the bar "at least youll be dead soon"
It was Jon Favreau! His arch enemy from the prep house – and he had a gun leveled right at dookus chest!
The tuskan raider gasped.