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She'd be in two moods over two days of thinking—doubt and hope—and neither would improve to arrive at HQ on Monday morning.
Mid-July, five to nine, somewhat mild coffee to sip, when she'd be greeted by her backup of a previous life; none too cordial as they'd lead Mayfield out in laser handcuffs. Between that and arriving at the roundtable, confronting those spirits so ice-cold and sober, she'd round onto her bosses for answers.
"Care to tell me what's going on, to look so chirpy? I don't surprise easy, but that arrest sure did."
"We're taking out 'de trash, that's what. Held ourselves an investigation, and came to conclude that Thomas was the one to attack Hubert two weeks ago."
"That's a bunch of crap! You seriously think that Methuselah couldn't break all those bones by himself? He'd be done for just for falling down."
"I don't know, and frankly, I don't care. Who are you to question the Professor's word?"
"The woman with this whole place on my shoulders, for starters."
Even for that veiled threat, they didn't budge an inch nor confess a word; kid's conga line of mystery and misery to grow yet again. No evidence of assault proven whatsoever, but perhaps someone powerful to redden—over lacks of chatter whether in space or in the showers, who to perplex her.
Guess after guess as to why Thomas got declared an exile, especially to wind up berated to even mention his name. Further questions to confront in fact when, as her 29th birthday drew nearer, she'd note the empty yet lit-up hangars, both the Professor and Hermes standing in her way.
"Okay, either somebody here clues me in, or I'm going to jail to get answers myself. Make of that what you will."
"To level 'wid yuh Leela"—Hermes looked up—"kid's sentence is due any moment, likely one of death. We could've put aside the failure to deliver on his promise, but neither we nor company policy could forgive his assault."
"Hermes, has it escaped your careful eye regarding how many of us wanna piece of this wart? Aside from how much worse the man deserves, you really gonna begrudge him a minor beatdown?"
"Wait, WHAT?!"
"Yes Hubert, you're not as beloved as you believe. I'm sorry Captain but bidness be bidness, it's really that simple. Couple weeks to process the papers, damned Central Bureaucracy."
Her clench of fists for facing yet another lost crewman, before Hermes straightened himself and his glasses up.
"Well, in 'de wake of such news, let's be ready for whatever's next. Everyone, 'dis way please."
Only silence as she considered the temptations to commit a jailbreak, before she'd be led up to conference. Empty desk to squint for at first, only to be told to move along; was when they'd halt before the lounge, closed off, that she figured something wasn't right.
"After you."
"Okay guys, no more games. Just what on Earth is going—"
A sudden yell of "SURPRISE!" to almost drop her on her ass, clutching her chest. Would sooner prefer the handcuffs, yet as she got herself together, would come to notice the colourful banners, the big spread of treats upon cheap plastic tables.
Quite a scene to find her crew and colleagues, beaming down front, including the one she didn't expect to attend.
"Couldn't help or anything for being stuck in jail, but still heard the word 'round here… Happy birthday Captain."
"You sneaky sons-of—!" she'd laugh between hugs. "And Thomas? How did you escape?"
"Escape? If only. Coppers just let me go, no rhyme nor reason. For a guy whose bail sat at millions, somehow, was awful strange to only hear 'get out' and nothing else."
That to roll her eye low for thinking, while the Professor would adjust his lab coat with a wide grin.
"We also figured we'd celebrate our comeback of late. From nearly closing our doors, we've damn sure created ourselves a miracle."
"Speaking of such things though"—Thomas clapped shoulders—"everyone here was mine. When most others didn't or wouldn't, you'd all take me in, even when at times you just couldn't."
With a call to place their hands or fists in, she'd then get the party hustling into full swing. Feasts of sinful foods, kid's Symphod on full blast, and their games to keep growing; eventually, the strums of Limbo Rock to actually seize the janitor's mop. Everybody to take turns wriggling under, and none to earn prizes for guessing how Mayfield had gone.
"Yeah baby, I won! Eat my dust suckers, I'm the limbo master now."
"Yah bumped ya head bad enough to believe it, mon. Take my jacket, and get 'dese notes down."
Whispery chuckle to herself when the kid offered his arm; knew better than to pass snide remarks, actually bet upon a loss. Indeed, as Hermes grew intimate with the floor yet didn't bother the bar, could see his mouth soon gape wider than a laughing clown's.
And once Hermes beckoned for his cash, his knees still bent level to his chest, the whole performance would send him gripping for the window.
"Wha? How the, when did you, did I—"
"Retired Limbo athlete, Olympian-grade, at yuh service," came the smirk. "That oughta teach yuh to talk nonsense."
"Strike a light, but that was beyond special. Actually kinda glad I lost now."
Red-capped scruff to get back his mop, and the party to begin winding down—work to do, after all—until the lobby's doorbell would ring. Five minutes to pass between Thomas's yell of "I've got it!" to his shaking return; could've sworn to hearing hisses before she found him shuffling a bunch of envelopes.
"Said I forgot these, but it can't be."
"Can't be what, kid?"
A good rip across so he could scan upon and inside a paper, and she to grab the trash left behind. Silken quilt to the touch, and shining under lights, both its onyx coating and fine golden trim.
"These ain't real, these can't be real. And yet, it's all starting to make sense."
"Ohhh, I'm sick of the whispers, gimme that!"
Her own scan to leave her as speechless as him; the ultimate of VIP invitations, and a guaranteed date of August 5th, Sunday coming up. Front-row seats, exclusive chats and more among the biggest names in conservation—in fact, his wasn't the only invite he would carry.
"Guys, conference room, now," his voice would quiver.
Not even the Professor's fuming to pierce those paralytic eyes, once everyone took their seats.
"Undercut me, Maybanks? I call the meetings around here, NOT YOU!"
"If what I saw's indeed for all of us… Think it best we hear this out, Professor."
Captain to let any handovers commence, and a ruckus of hollers and high-fives to erupt after he'd do so. Only Mayfield to not join in, in fact, would clam up into a shell that'd alarm Zoidberg of all beings.
"My friend, are you alright? So unusual to not be—oh God, it must be fin rot!"
"It ain't that Zoidberg, but regardless, I'm not sure I am. Cursive scrawl on mine, to request that these are how I'll pay my bail. And if I'm catchin' this kind of attention…"
Couldn't help the growing smile and shifts in her seat, stoic though she'd try to be.
"I can't believe this! Had always dreamed to be a part of this audience, be among the somebodies."
"Didn't you bet our lives that we'd be off the guest list, Captain?"
"Yeah, but I wasn't serious when I said—"
"Come on, surely you don't think he'll let us dress nice and have a good time?"
"Oh Lord kid, way to be a buzzkill! Look, the impossible doesn't always need an explanation."
"Yeah Thomas, and think about it," Amy joined in. "For how close we came to closing up Planet Express, it'd be real stupid to decline this invite. And I've done my share to know."
"Ladies, that's EXACTLY what worries me. Besides the chance that he arranged my time in jail—not like he knows nobody—who besides Archbury would dangle that kind of bait? And why?"
"Oh, why all 'de fuss?" Hermes grinned, feet on the desk. "To get this opportunity, who knows how high we could fly? I know I'd wanna find out."
"Mr. Conrad, don't cloud your mind now. As unlikely buds all, we've no doubt grown our stems, maybe enough to grab ourselves a pile of green… But let's be real, ya gotta be beyond stoned to believe we belong with that lot."
"You certainly won't with THAT attitude!" Professor to groan, bones too. "You think we can't butter 'em up and roll in their dough before long?"
"Sorry boss, but attitude or no, that man's not worth that kinda bread. However, I can't say we've any alternatives either—bet the bastard knows it, too."
"Won't hold a candle to the loathe of my life, to mention bets. Can only hope he's not gonna be there."
"Sorry Cap, who are we talking about again?"
"He'd say he puts the 'E-R-A' in General, but I would spell it with three R's… Zapp Brannigan."
"Damn, that serious huh?"
"Let's just say that we've got stories, and leave it at that. Speaking of which, why exactly is Archbury giving you the creeps?"
"Of late, just can't shake this feeling 'bout him. That day I watched his interview, would hear him speak of ancient societies, seeds of filth to linger. Nothing suss to hear 'till he'd mention 'anomalies'… Describes me to the letter, don't you think?"
"Riigghht, and how could you even PLAN to prove that?" she'd scoff.
"That's the damnedest thing, I can't. Got only rumours in gossip rags, theories in pictures, and one-time footage to go from. Yeah, as if those'd be any help."
"Listen, kid, maybe you need to take a day or two off. Reckon that overtime's really messed with your head."
"Did they? So I guess we just completely imagined getting the crap kicked outta me, right? Dreamed of drowning in the Hudson? Look, I could imagine Admiral acting of his own accord, but surely you remember that he'd mention masters that day. Is such a connection so out of the question?"
"Oh for God's sake, you weren't kidding when you said you needed a straitjacket. Okay, who'd order him to save my life and take yours, when there were other options?"
"I know I sound crazy, Captain, but the reasons are right there. By now, it's clear that my love of miracles has given me a reputation—going by your tales, one he's been seeing as a menace, as a mistake to correct. You don't think such a guy would stop at nothing, to ensure things remain as he wants 'em?"
Convinced her a bit more, but didn't sell her outright; was no ignoring the charities, awareness drives, and other noble campaigns that'd promise—nay, guarantee—Earth's safety. Knew of invaders, wars, climate time-bombs and beyond in her lifetime; compared to some crewman, had to believe there'd be bigger things on his plate.
"Only wanted to stay alive, succeed with this second chance. Can't say it's that simple anymore."
"What does it matter? Serious networking openings aside, it's free booze, food and entertainment. We're all going, whether YOU like it or not."
"Don't blame ya one bit, Professor. However, I've got no reason to trust the guy; didn't back then, still don't now. Let's make this clear, that simple delivery's not gonna prepare us for where we're about to go… If we haven't already, now's the time to start living off our wits."
As calls were made to get back to work, she'd hum over how the pieces would again fall. Regarding failures long past, little seeds of the impossible to be watered, though she'd still give her head a good shake.
"If those two actually cared, they'd have either finished the job, or come home by now… I mean, surely?"
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Though he'd remain unnerved after approval forms were stamped, after their chauffeur's careful knock, and while his colleagues climbed into their limousine, he'd keep assuring himself that all arrangements prior to this party had been handled.
Many a sunset to spend preparing for this night; courses of action to debate, outfits to mull over, prizes to secure and insure. Of the latter, several stashes known only to its creators, and an emergency back-up in the bowels of HQ; could collect on any fall-back, were the word to get out.
Even so, none of that to stop him from splashing his face a dozen times, praying he didn't crease or drench his custom three-piece—Archbury'd take any excuse, sloppiness included, to haul him out to dry. Prices aside, dared not destroy them over memories of his tailor; lingers had of long horns, claws, salivating drool, and the threats of goring his throat each time it'd stand up.
Even for the creature's apologies or colleagues' attempts to relax him, he was adamant that it wasn't an accident. Despite any distrust however, would still freely concede that this 'Giorgio' knew a thing or two about style; couldn't help but beam, for himself and everyone, as they'd ride through rush hour.
Captain to match small heels and a purse, with a scarlet, sheath-styled dress. Amy to seize a lapis-blue gown, that'd expose her navel and shoulders; little louche perhaps, but hell if he minded. Zoidberg in a black, bow-tied ensemble, paid for as one gift of many. Even Hermes to have the decency to grab a good shirt, tucked under his corporate look. Professor, as if they could expect any different, to not even bother dressing up.
Colleagues to simply glow as their formal selves, as they'd all marvel towards the Metropolitan for arriving. Indeed, he himself could only imagine the history within that marble palace, adorned up top by royal-waving angels, that spire to pierce the night sky.
Senses to begin coming alive, as tickets were punched in; stirrup and company to get stirred up by that orchestra, the delights of cooking and booze to vibrate his nostrils, a sectioned wall of priceless art to soon grace his eyes. Gazing upon this world of titans, just had to pinch his skin and have a laugh.
"Maattee, as if I'm living ENOUGH of a pipe dream. Still, wits about me, wherever I go."
An offer of top-class cognac to politely turn down—was gonna eat first—before he allowed himself a closer look; gut spasms to note the likes of Whistlejacket, and Lady with an Ermine, among the artwork to be auctioned. They to get a particular attention, and that was before he'd discover Planet Express already seated at their table.
Tried to create nothing of it while he'd scan that esteemed crowd, only to lock onto someone just two tables over. A more than morbid interest for learning one harsh lesson, one to be worth inquiring for Leela saving him a seat.
"Hey, um, that cobber over there… That can't be the General, surely to goodness?"
"Don't give him ideas that I'm here, damn you!"
Was still convinced it must've been a mistake; 'hero' here to pound wine like it was plonk, monologue for so long that those guests' eyes had vacated. Sitting offside, and dressed the same, a thin green alien who could only pour upon order, protests be damned. Being his steward to be bad enough, but then he'd hear just what Brannigan would stew about.
Pleasure by malice, perhaps, as that "loyal friend" had to hear story after story of their incompetence and disobedience, virtually shouted across the hall. The man's bragging of setting any adventures right to then camouflage it, despite the fact that nobody was listening anymore.
"Wow, what a wake-up call. Captain sure knows how to pick 'em."
No time to glimpse among and get feelers for this audience either, when Zoidberg began clacking his claws and squealing with glee. Such a merry display to not return himself; had to snatch a glass, actually, over who'd arrive and who'd flank their side.
Impressions from Morbo's interview to not improve at all; more dictator than dignitary, more conqueror than ceremony master, he'd watch Archbury work the floor, wearing a suit which'd gleam via both material and medal. Rather curt greetings to receive, and would've bet on a piece of their minds too, were it not for 'Admiral' and their curdling stare.
Knew too well what the consequences were for setting off that human void, as eventually they'd sit down; Archbury to continue his chatter, and his guard to stare down the tablecloth, remain dead silent.
Even a Captain's gaze couldn't stir its attention; only a delicate moan heard for having a flip of hair, breath check and subtle tweaks of dress go unnoticed. Course, anything in mind before to be the least of concerns now.
"Shit, he's planning to keep eyes on us all night! Now what?"
"Look Thomas, just act natural, okay? We'll be fine as long as we don't get any—"
"Well, well, well! If it isn't my luscious lady Leela; made for pleasure, built for sexy love."
Words of liquid bravado to leave her gagging on water, so much so that both crew and alien had to slap her back. Following success of clearing her lungs, the latter would lock hungry eyes with Amy; among talks of never leaving the other ever again, one day, she'd wrap him in a lip-locked bear hug that'd inflate his head, grinning yet glaringly worn.
In contrast to fairy-tale love made real, would see Leela meet Zapp's megawatt grin with grinding teeth—glancing the man over, would spot more medals pinned than, he'd imagine, any seasoned vet could name. Wouldn't wager on stolen valour yet, but couldn't cross it out of his mind either.
"So my lovely, after this lame little tango here, how 'bout some Captain coitus aboard your favourite ship? Been working on my straight-line waltz, cha-cha-cha."
Her gags to set off again by whatever mating dance he'd make up; after much fiddling, and a wave to encourage an answer, would force out a fake smile.
"Come on, say thank-you already. Not gonna look perfect forever, and it's a limited-time offer."
"Look Moby Dick, much as I'd just love to, I've since found a new fiancé."
Thoughts on who it was, with each choice to just sound preposterous. Hermes, Zoidberg, Professor, daresay Amy…
"And it's none other than him, right darling?"
When that long kiss landed on HIS cheek, and he'd slap it in surprise, it left him wide open to get it grabbed, have a little thing twirled upon it. Golf ball eyes again, to recognise the gold ring—traditional symbol of such commitment.
"Wait, what the, since when—OW!"
Thin heel into his ankle, and a stare to remind him of parlours, to get his answer.
"Ohhh shit, what kinda stories does she hide? Well Tom, who dares wins."
Foot to rub the other as he'd stand to this white whale, who despite those heavy lurches, breaths to leave even an Aussie legless, could still comfortably point his nose straight down.
"Name and rank, young man?" he'd offer a gloved hand.
"Thomas Mayfield, Delivery Boy First Class."
"I'm the man with no name… Zapp Brannigan, 25-Star General, and Captain of the Nimbus on DOOP's behalf." Somehow a firm grip, and fast growing firmer, as if broken fingers were the goal: "Those are your cues to call me sir, to leave Leela to me, and obviously, to leave us the hell alone."
Stretch of his hand once it was let go: "None needed to break your balls, 'sir.' And that lady made it REAL clear, so how 'bout ya learn your place?"
"Bold words boy, but surely you know they're worthless? She's the type to crawl to anybody she can, desperate to ignore our destiny. Shame really; hard to enjoy burger patties after having steak."
"Tch, don't flatter yourself. By that breath you're cooking, reckon she'd take my TV dinner in a heartbeat."
Didn't see her clap her mouth nor look anywhere else, such was his focus on Brannigan.
"Real cocky chump, aren't you? Do you actually, honest-to-God believe that you're fiancé material? Punching rather high, aren't we, to soon be wedded to her?"
"Who's got the gold ring again?" he'd flash his hand. "And free correction, I KNOW I will be. So do you wanna shut up and siddown, or shall I help you do so?"
"I do the ordering between us, boy. Y'know, I find this quite the laugh—says she loves you so much, yet I'd bet she never let you score the slam dunk, hit the home run, ran that Hail Mary touchdown."
"I don't speak drunken creep, so how 'bout plain English?"
"Sex! I'm saying have you had sex with her?"
Her face-palm to catch and instantly feel sorry for, especially to get glances, before he'd return with lips curled: "Our bedroom's not your business, and I will not tolerate that kinda talk. Right now, I'd suggest you take some real good advice and PISS. OFF."
"Just remember something, right now. Her last fiancé couldn't protect her then, and you won't protect her now. The very minute you falter, and I'll take any reason, I'll be the syrup to her pancakes, the fudge to her ice-cream, the cheese to her pizza."
A drunken shove to send him against the table; eyes like slits after he got to steady himself, stood against that authority once more.
"Right now you're more mouth than merit, but if you wanna back your words, there's the door. All I need's the order."
Only got a flash of whites, instead of a fight: "Let that warn you, friend, to not make an enemy of me. I have an entire army, best friends in high places, AND a loyal assistant who'll lick my boots if I tell him to… Next time, I won't be so generous. Farewell."
Clenched his fists enough to crack, as Brannigan winked and clicked tongues at Leela, called Kif over, and stumbled back towards his table. Green alien's goodbye to be a mournful one, and no wonder, as any tough-guy façade would vanish and he'd collapse into his seat.
"Why in anyone's right mind—are you for fuckin' real?"
"Hey, watch your mouth! And trust me, you've got nothing to worry about, okay? What he says against what the reality is, it's as night and day as you'll ever know. Well, maybe save for Kif there."
"Yeah, you're right, I'm sorry. Guess we've been through worse, still, hate that I gotta be forced to fight."
"You don't mind being used like that, though? Figured it was fine since you said you weren't looking, and—"
"Can't say I'm a fan, but you did pull me outta Cookieville. I could forgive being put against a drongo."
Another glass of cognac to consume, and then a black and glimmering dress to begin trailing into view. Mystery woman in it to leave him beyond wowed, as yet another sort he'd never be; cut like a complete athlete, a fire forging in her eyes, and a purpose and attitude with every stride.
Unfortunately, would gaze a great deal longer than planned; eyes to catch his, and far from hello, she would scurry him back for getting right into his face.
"You after some black eyes, asshole? How 'bout you quit ogling me?"
"Whoa, hey, back up a minute!" he'd shrink back, trembling. "Swear I didn't mean such crap, just—"
"Just what, huh? You wanna grow some Blerns and tell me?"
"Grow some what? The bloody hell are you—"
"Oh, you wanna be a smartass with me? Why don't we get up and go—"
Leela's shoulder-tap to halt things: "Hey, hey, ease off okay? Kid doesn't know much out here."
Heart against his chest as those bared teeth were turned, only to become a crinkled sneer.
"Now how's this to stink up this hall of champions? Trying again to fit where you don't belong, Leela?"
"Wait a minute, you two know—"
Swift hand to silence him, then the Captain to loosen up: "I'm here by the kid's invite, for one. So, Jackie, how—"
"That's Miss Anderson to you, got it?"
"Whatever. So, been years since the Poindexters, how's things since?"
"Worlds better than you, and only 'cause everyone learned from your example. If I actually had challengers, I'd never have smashed 250 career Blerns, had a 50-Blern season, or got my 25th Grand Slam Blern either."
"The what, the what, and the what?"
"I wasn't talking to you, so shut it!"
"Hey, either help him understand or keep this between us, alright? Anyway, I can imagine you've won your share of trophies?"
"Every Galaxy Series ring, and Finals MVP, to date. Again, all thanks to your 'influence.'"
Leela to roll her eye: "Is it not enough? There you stand, the 'Babe' in 'Babe Ruth' who'll inspire us for centuries, while all I've got for my times at the plate are head dints, no outs, and a Hall of Shame."
"You really think that's all?" Jackie folded her arms: "Had I the power, I'd personally haul you into Madison Cube Garden to have fans pelt you with beer bottles. The fact that you're here mingling among actual achievers, after committing such crimes against my sport, it just turns my stomach."
"If you're after a challenge, may I offer my Captain's seat? Pays crumbs by comparison, and can bet the danger's really quite high. I mean, compared to smacking a bunch of tetherballs around. Forgive me, please, if I forget to be impressed."
"All my hours at practice, hoping to pull off a Miller Time, all I give for charities, fans, sponsors and stars-in-waiting, all the patience I exude for stat dweebs or armchair coaches, quoting or lecturing my games… Every waking minute of mine dedicated to cleaning up your mess, and you DARE speak to me like that?"
Had to be a 'code red' concerning Jackie's anger, even to approach Leela's chin with quiet calm.
"Then again, given that pigskin thing on your face, I guess you never were gonna amount to much."
Deep breaths and pumping fists to think of tapping shoulders himself, but chose not to risk wrath from either side. Indeed, over what he'd hear next, hadn't any regrets playing the coward.
"You really wanna keep kicking this hornet's nest, kid?"
"Miss Anderson, and what's the worst you can do?"
"Oh, I'll get to that… So, after the first day we met, your backhanded farewells when I'd retire, and now this childish bragging, you really think I'd give a DAMN about your widdle feewings?"
Anderson began to speak, but a finger would meet her lips. If she were smart, and lucky, that'd be all.
"Y'know, when he signed me, Doubledeal never cared about making me a contender. All he wanted were ratings and crowd buys; having said that, I won't deny that I didn't deserve to be so cocky. Some days, I wish I'd been a friendly rival, but instead I've accepted the facts as they came to pass."
"That still won't acquit—"
"Speak one more word… Since you wanna return me to reality, let me pay back the favour. For all those fat contracts and sponsorships, all you've achieved, it turns MY stomach to hear you whine, bitch, and moan when you don't know a DAMN thing about a difficult life. Don't you EVER define me by your stupid sport, because you believe that's the only way anyone can inspire somebody."
Would admit to a smile, even to give it with guilt, as Jackie tried interrupting again only for a hand to cover her mouth.
"Step into these heels for even a second, sweetie, and you'd be on hands and knees trying to give 'em back. So, a wise word for the women's standard of sport… Enjoy your game, shut your mouth, and beat it."
Thought that'd end any argument, but far from paying heed, Jackie turned for only a second before she'd wheel right back, a palm stretched out. Quick as an eye-blink that arm would be grabbed, wrenched into her back, and gripped at the wrist; quite the wince for both to betray a satisfied grin.
"Ohhh honey, you really wanna try that? Might I advise on what'll happen, to take this outside?"
Got beckoned over by a free finger; not even Jackie's scowl to bother him as he began whispering in her ear. Of sending a crystal-clear message, would certainly do his job, judging by her dilating eyes and shivering body.
"Answer me this, 'Miss Anderson'… How shall you inspire anybody, when they'll be too scared to see you in public?"
"Okay, okay dammit! I get what you're saying, just let me go!"
With that request granted, Jackie could only slink away, gingerly rubbing her arm. Leela to readjust herself and sit right back down—for sure a lesson learnt, and for knowing his back was had, a certain awe to overcome him.
"To have that level of courage, Captain… Way to pitch that utter bitch straight out."
"Wanna say I took no pleasure in it, but couldn't say that with a straight face. Still, shame it went that far."
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When entrées and main courses were finally served, it was then that the patterns and plans became obvious, yet much too late to escape.
Judging from the plates of guests around him, he halfway expected a prime ribeye or lobster or even a wagyu burger; king or queen's feast no matter the meat, essentially. Instead, after a night of being plied with booze—several grand per shot, so he was told—they'd end up getting stiffed on dinner; sideways glances to gaze upon salads covered in gold leaf, and food cubes slathered in sauces.
Fanciest he'd known, for sure, but wholly worthless as everybody'd finish within seconds, and might've done so for having seconds too. Golden rule of better times before—good meal with family first, then good drinks to absorb it after.
"Could've bought a dump truck of Submarines instead… The hell's Archbury playing at?"
Such a crack to barely get a response; whole table in fact to take advantage of VIP treatment, and grow rather the worse for wear. Dread in his gut that they were good as gone, even before the bosses headed off for private chats, the ladies left for a talk or two, and Zoidberg of all beings would assist with the auction. Hadn't any idea why, but tried to steel himself as he sat alone.
Figuring neither crew nor colleague would be back, he'd rise to check out the exotic creatures that Archbury caged up; if nothing else, a chance to eye off 'Admiral' for any sudden moves. A collection the likes he'd never seen, as he'd continue to explore the ballroom.
Literal boxing kangaroo to laugh and palm his heart towards, then a three-eyed fish or four to unhinge jaws to his chest. Young T-Rex then to really topple him sideways, then would almost pass out for spotting a familiar large snake, virtually identical to the one who'd invite him here.
However, after he'd approach it with a more than morbid curiosity, it wouldn't be the creature to freeze him stiff.
Spider, easily the span of a dinner plate, to crawl all over its glass with animated pace; thing to shiver him enough before it'd leap off and, far from falling, soon began to hover with dragonfly-styled wings.
"Gaaahhh, what the ever-loving hell are you?"
"Perhaps the most special creature in my collection, I'd dare consider."
That slick voice to startle him the most; Archbury himself to join by his side.
"Suurree, take ya word for it. So what is that thing, if you don't mind me asking?"
"A prize find and the last to exist; took the best hunters twenty years to track and seize on my behalf. Several to lose their lives seeking this Peruvian Spiderfly, I should add."
A growl in his guts to experience, and not only from any lack of food.
"You'll forgive me for not hanging 'round, I hope… Knew of having real lethal suckers like those, especially out in the countryside."
"All too aware, and of course. You go ahead and enjoy yourself, we'll chat some other time… Much sooner than you think."
Creatures and little chats to distract him, but no proof that perfect focus would work either; 'Admiral' to show out of nowhere and seize his throat with a cobra clutch choke. Not even a scream before the bright lights grew black—couldn't know of being carried into a camouflaged ship, soon boarded by the bigwig to send the tickets.
"Ohhh, this letter's gonna be fun to write! Admiral, set a course for home and await further orders; as for you my friend, been buzzing 'round my face for far too long… Now this redback's ready to feast."