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She'd remain between doubt and hope over two days of thinking, and as she'd cross HQ's hallway at five to nine, found both would worsen in almost an instant.

Milkier coffee for this Monday, when the backup of her Counsellor days paid greetings; response not cordial, even before finding her Officer, head forcibly bowed, being led away in laser handcuffs.

"Weird-y."

"Eyeball."

"Don't make me beat your asses, boys… Now what's this about?"

Left her without a word, to require answers from roundtables, confront its bosses who nowhere near shared the spirits of that morning.

"Care to tell me what the hell's goin' on, for you guys to get so chirpy?"

"Held ourselves an investigation, and came to conclude 'dat Thomas was the man to assault Hubert that night. So now we're taking out 'de trash."

"Oh come on, and you seriously think he's the only enemy Methuselah's ever made in his entire life?"

"I don't know, and more to that, I don't care. Professor says he's guilty, who are you to question it?"

"The woman with this whole place on her shoulders. Turanga Leela, your Captain and Head Pilot, call me."

Not an inch to budge nor word to confess, to go with no concrete evidence of the crime; mysteries and miseries ongoing, especially over lacks of chatter whether in space or under the showers—even saying his name was to end up berated.

"Remember doin' much worse, was only fired once… How does it make any damn sense?"

More so to note that as her 29th drew nearer, day by day, would return to her chief and his deputy inside a far darker hangar, their spirits now a stark opposite.

"Alright, I'm done with all the guessing games. Either I get clued in, or I'm going to jail to get my answers… Make of that what you will."

"Dere's nothing to discuss, Leela"—Hermes looked up—"the sentence has been passed. Besides failing to deliver on his promise, neither we nor company policy will ever forgive the deed he's done."

"And what proof do you have besides the stolen phone? Oh sure, a dumb decision that deserves a write-up, but a warrant for his arrest? And then, as I've said, there's who'd want a piece of the Chief… Including us, at times."

"Wait, WHAT?!"

"Never you mind, Hubert. And Captain, that's plain and simple bidness; we gave him a chance as crew, and he couldn't make the cut. Couple weeks to process the papers, can thank those Central bureaucrats for taking so long."

"You say that as if there's folks lining up for blocks, begging to get their shot with us."

"Regardless, let's be ready for whatever's next"—Hermes straightened up. "If you may follow me?"

Temptations to commit a jailbreak as she was led up past conference then halted before the lounge, closed off. Not unusual in of itself, but all preceding it to figure that something wasn't on the up and up.

"After you."

"I swear if this is a waste of my time, I'll—"

The shout of "SURPRISE!" to annihilate any such thought, almost drop her on her backside; as she got herself together, came to notice the white big-letter banners, the cheap plastic tables, and the spread of sumptuous treats laid in a colourful display.

And beaming down front, including the one she didn't expect to attend, everyone she'd call crew and colleague at present.

"Being stuck in jail stopped me from helping, but still heard the word 'round here… Cheers and salud to you, Captain."

As a chorus of "Hear, hear!" rang throughout, there'd be big hugs and big laughs to be shared, though none bigger than hers.

"How'd you sneaky shits pull this off? And Thomas, how on Earth did you escape?"

"Escape? Hah, if only. For a guy whose bail sat at millions, so I'd be told, found it bloody strange to just be let go, to hear only "get out" and not a word more."

Whoever'd possess that kind of power to perplex her, but only until her Chief cast a wide grin, and got everyone's attention.

"This is also my chance to celebrate our turnaround, the remarkable efforts responsible… I am so proud of you all."

After Thomas's call to place hands or fists in, the party then hustled into full swing; feasts, music and games to continue growing, eventually leading to the strums of Limbo Rock that'd get her to seize the janitor's mop. Everybody to take turns wriggling under, and none to earn prizes for guessing how her Officer had gone.

"Yeah baby, I won! Eat my dust suckers, I'm the master now."

"Bumped ya head bad enough to believe it. Take my jacket, mon, and get 'dese notes down."

A whispery chuckle as the kid offered an arm, heard the remarks bordering on snide as he'd place bets upon a loss; the more intimate Hermes grew with the floor, hardly bothering their bar, the more his mouth would resemble a carnival's laughing clowns, the tighter he'd grip the window frame.

"Wha? How the, when did you, did I—"

"Retired Olympic athlete, at yuh service. Now cough it up, and consider that a lesson."

"Strike a light, so you actually HAVE a fun side. That was a price worth paying to see, Mr. Conrad."

"And can the formal crap, would ya? Hermes is good enough."

Once that red-capped scruff got back his mop, the party would wind down by Professor's request—slight backlogs to clear, after all—only for the lobby's doorbell to sound. A few minutes between Thomas's yell of "I'll get it!" and his shivery return, shuffling a bunch of what seemed like envelopes.

"Don't tell me, the bills came in?"

"Least they'd be more real, Captain."

"Oh yeah, as opposed to what?"

He to give a good rip across and then inspect the contents closely; grabbing the trash left behind, noted a touch like silken quilt, and shining under lights, a fine golden trim and onyx coating.

"What is going on? And yet, why does it make so much sense?"

"Ah give it here, let's see what the big deal is."

Her own inspection to be rendered just as speechless; an audience with Archbury, the ultimate of invitations too, for a guaranteed date of August 5th—just a couple of Sundays. Front-row seats to Q&A panels, exclusive one-on-ones with conservation's biggest names, and a luxurious excess of extras she'd be too excited to read. Especially to know his wasn't the only invite he would carry.

"Call everyone to conference, we gotta talk."

Once crew and colleague took their seats, not even the Professor's wrath could pierce those paralytic eyes.

"You dare undercut me, Maybanks? I've the authority to call a meeting around here, NOT YOU!"

"Apologies sir, but, if what I saw's indeed for all of us… I'm sure you'll understand."

Giving permission with their Chief and his consigliere of a sort, the handovers would commence, whereupon a ruckus of hollers and high-fives would erupt. To her concern, her Officer to so clam up it'd alarm even Zoidberg.

"My friend, are you all right? Not unlike you to be so—oh God, it must be fin rot!"

"Don't have 'em, crab, but regardless, I'm not sure I am. Cursive scrawl on mine, to make clear that these'll pay my bail. And that's a condition I certainly don't like…"

Stoic though she'd try to be, even in light of that thought, couldn't help the shift in her seat, the grin growing ear to ear.

"To actually be a part of this, be among somebodies... Am I dreaming over here?"

"Didn't you bet our lives that we'd be off the guest list?"

"Yeah, but I wasn't serious when I said—"

"Come on, surely you don't believe he's just gonna let us dress nice and have a good time?"

"Oh Lord, paging Captain Buzzkill! What is it with you and always needing an explanation?"

"Yeah Thomas, and think about it," Amy chimed in. "You know how close we came, to closing our doors for good. It'd be beyond stupid to decline this, and I've done my share to know."

"Ladies, it's EXACTLY that lack of choice that worries me. For all I know, he had my time in jail arranged, and now he's dangling this kind of bait? Why go so far, and why be so generous?"

"Kid, ya fuss too much. Think I'd wanna find out just how high we can fly, to get these tickets."

"Hermes, don't go clouding your mind now. As unlikely buds all, we've no doubt grown our stems, perhaps enough to get serious piles of green… But to believe we belong with THAT lot? Gotta be bloody stoned to believe it."

"That's because you WON'T with that attitude! One I'd suggest you smarten up by the time—"

"I hear ya Professor, but attitude or no, I'd rather stay as far away as I can. And yet, and I bet he knows this, can't say we've any alternatives."

"Well, whatever you think of him, he won't hold a candle to the loathe of my life. Imagine he's gonna stink up the party."

"Sorry ma'am, but, who were we talking 'bout again?"

"The guy who'd claim he puts the 'E-R-A' in General, but I'd sooner spell that with three R's… Zapp Brannigan."

"Oh yeah, what's so bad about him?"

"Let's just say that I've MANY stories, and pray you hear none of 'em. Now why exactly does this event give you the creeps?"

"After our shower at HQ, I'd come home to some insane gifts; not just giant TVs, but suites I coulda paid a Manhattan mortgage with. Even heard invites to take a seat—not suspicious at ALL—before I'd watch Archbury speak. Never did mention that he had the annihilation of ancient societies in mind, the anomalies who'd create some garbage disaster of some age back."

"Riigghht. Listen kid, maybe you need a day or two off—think that overtime's done your head in."

"No time off!" Farnsworth piped up.

"Are you—so I guess that night I'd get the shit beat outta me, forcibly drowned in the Hudson, that was all cut from whole cloth? Look, could the Admiral have acted of his own accord? Absolutely. But let's not forget the 'master' he'd mention to us… Is such a connection so out of the question?"

"Oh for God's sake. Okay, if that's the case, why would he care to save my life and take yours, when to wipe out all witnesses would've been a better option?"

"How can I answer that, Captain? Only met the prick once, and I'd rather it remain that way. If I had to guess, they've been ordered to be patient, for some grand scheme that's gonna bear fruit on the gala floor… All because I wanted to make the most of my second chance."

Didn't convince her even a bit; was no ignoring the charities, awareness drives, and other noble campaigns that'd promise—nay, guarantee—Earth's own safety. Experiences of fighting invaders, joining in galactic wars, actually dealing with garbage meteors and great heatwaves, to believe there'd be bigger issues on Archbury's plate.

"Well, whatever your thoughts Maybanks, we're all going, whether YOU like it or not."

"I figured as much, Chief. So let's make this crystal-clear; none of what we've done is gonna prepare us for where we're about to go… I didn't trust the guy then, and still don't now; time we live off whatever wits we have."

Following calls to get back to work, would hum over how pieces had recently fell; with regards to failures long past, little seeds of the impossible to be watered, though not enough to give it more than a good shake of her head.

"You'd think those two would have finished the job, if they actually cared… So why haven't they?"

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Matching a dress of scarlet—from bodice to hem fitted to form—with small heels and a leather purse, it'd been the most beautiful she felt in years, daresay beyond a decade.

A week of sunsets to champ for this night, dedicating many toward finding that gown that'd crown her again; at least, a touch classier than Amy's, lapis-blue and little left to imagination. Even for Farnsworth thumbing noses at any such codes, still believed each colleague would simply glow in their black bowtie ensembles, or courtesy of 'Giorgio', their custom three-pieces.

Yet, far from the sartorial elegance he'd showcase, even a Wonder or a Charles could tell that Mayfield seemed anything but.

"Thomas, besides all the trips to the bathroom, you haven't quit the mutters OR shakes since we met here… What the hell's—"

"Haven't had an attack like this since admission exams—bowels about to build a house soon. I—I just wanna be sure that all our arrangements and—"

"Uggh, again? I was THIS close to blocking your cell, was so sick of hearin' nothing else outta ya. If he wanted your head so badly, do you believe we'd have been invited?"

"That's only to establish that even with HQ as witnesses, he'll do as he damn well likes. So how 'bout our courses of action in case of—"

"Enough, seriously. I get it, I really do, but you're living a fantasy to believe you'll be prepared for everything out there. Did you forget where you first came from, and what you've won against since?"

"Leela, I'm NOTHING like that orphan you allude to. And for a guy who's only alive by your grace, Fates as well, to know my invite wasn't AT ALL an accident feels all the more damning."

Gave up trying to convince her Officer, so would help Hermes with stamping any approval forms, finishing the last just as HQ's doorbell chimed through the PA. Moments after, their chauffeur to invite them into its limousine—they to the gala and Thomas to the gallows, seemingly just a matter of when.

Arriving at the Metropolitan, she to marvel as they did at that marble palace, its spire piercing the night sky and its angels, waving royally, guarding the city within their gaze. For right or wrong heartbeats to rise with history to recall, as tickets were punched and her senses would stir—skin to pinch as an orphan among titans.

"Was told I'd always be IN the audience, were I lucky… Well, look who IS the audience."

"Care for a drink, ma'am? Compliments of Master Archbury, he's been expecting you and yours."

"Thanks, but can I take a rain check? Maybe make it for the main course?"

"Of course, as you wish."

With that she would allow herself a closer look beyond velvet rope barriers—themselves solid gold—and eye the goods as various elites did; presumably, artwork to be auctioned, though she'd recognise none of their titles nor artists. Once she glanced enough, was off to her table where Farnsworth and company had awaited her presence.

Scanning around the tables, she'd lock her eye on one out of perhaps a morbid interest, situated just across from theirs; as it'd turn out, courtesy of taps on the shoulder, she wasn't the only one.

"Hey, um, that big guy in the red, pounding that wine like it's plonk… That can't be the General, right? Right?"

Hadn't the heart to tell the kid, as she'd continue watching the monologue, that 'audience' vacate; sitting offside meanwhile, and dressed the same, his Lieutenant by rank yet wine steward by order. A paler green than past recalls, perhaps thinner too—in those eyes, maybe only the lady two seats left of her, to live for.

"Bugger me, if what I'm hearing's how he treats his "loyal friends", I'd shudder for the sods he'd consider his enemies."

"Don't give him ideas that I'm here, damn you!"

"Wait, what the hell did you ever do?"

"First time I'd cross his orbit, he made it my utmost regret… Rather not be reminded of why, though he never fails to do so."

With that she'd cross fingers under silken tablecloths, as story after story got virtually shouted across the hall; those of incompetence and disobedience until, quelle surprise, the ever-heroic General set everything right again. Not mattering a damn either, neither Kif's protests nor those fast-asleep guests.

Glimpsing among those elites, came to recognise a few faces over the years of adventures, but couldn't pay attention for long when Zoidberg, his squeal not subtle, began clacking his claws. A merry display Mayfield wouldn't return; indeed he'd request a glass over who'd next arrive, and another for who'd flank their side.

Far from the impressions she had heard spoken of, Archbury would work that floor with hands shaken or kissed, greetings most polite, in a suit that'd gleam under lights—a rather curt reception to mostly overhear, and were it not for security details cloaked in shadow, might've bet on getting a piece of their minds.

She then caught Thomas cursing a whispery streak, his face wide-eyed and even whiter as it'd jerk towards the detail, wearing a stare to make gold molten. And as master of ceremonies and his creature eventually took their seats, would notice it'd only scan about for trouble, silent as the dead.

Not even her gaze, nor the coy hair-flips and checks of dress could stir its attention—what'd stir hers though, would come just three feet from her right.

"Oh great, he's gonna keep eyes on us the whole evening… Now what?"

"Just act natural, okay? We'll be fine, Thomas, as long as we don't get unwanted—"

"Now if it isn't my luscious little Leela; built for pleasure, made for sexy love."

Scent of excess liquid bravado to begin gagging over, driving crew and even Kif to help slap her back and clear her lungs. Upon the latter's hungry eyes locking on Amy's own, and upon his heartfelt vows to keep more in touch, she to not hesitate a second in locking lips, nor with wrapping that little guy in a bear hug.

A megawatt grin on green, inflated heads, much like the man stood just a step from her seat, even as she met it with the barest of checked rage.

"So, all these medals could use a nice polish, though I've also got a friend who'd want one too—how 'bout we hop aboard my Nimbus after this, and give them the shine they deserve?"

Fighting her gag reflex and fearing she'd lose, instead tried to force out a fake smile; not enough of an answer, as it'd earn a gloved wave right in her face.

"Heelloo, Earth to Leela? It's a limited-time offer, so come on, say thank-you already."

"Ohhh, you know, much as I'd just LOVE to, I've since got myself a new fiancé, and it's…"

Her choices to grow only preposterous as she'd dart about, even for fakery's sake; mutters of "not right" or "UGH!" until the General, impulses growing with impatience, once again pressed her.

"Well, who's that man I must talk sense into?"

"It's none other than him right here. Right darling?"

Thomas to not quite hear her, but knew for sure when she'd drag his seat to plant a long, ravenous kiss on his left cheek—could only slap it and goggle like his eyes were golf balls.

"Whoa, wait, what the—"

A gold ring to twirl upon that exposed pointer, kept hidden and pinned by her dress—swore she meant to give advance warning, about preparing for ANY thing, but was way too late now.

"Since when was this all—OW!"

Thin heel into his ankle, one of her infamous stares, to ensure he wouldn't back out; not her finest play, but all she had as a gloved hand was offered, and crewman met commander.

"Name and rank, boy?"

"Mate, ya mind backin up a—"

"That's Sir to you, now let's try this again. Name and rank?"

"Sir, CTO First Class Thomas Mayfield, sir."

"And spare me your sighs when addressing me. I'm the man with no name… Zapp Brannigan, 25-Star General, glorious Captain of the Nimbus, commander of DOOP." Saw Thomas' eyes betray confusion, then a grimace over a somehow firm handshake.

"Myyy, aren't you a big one then, sir?" he'd stretch out his hand, try to massage it.

"And there's your cue to heed these orders; leave me your seat, give me that ring, and get outta here. Are we clear?"

"Sir, my little lady made it MUCH clearer who she'll meet down that aisle. So with respect, I won't be goin' anywhere."

"Bold words boy, but worthless. Especially against destiny. Try as she might to crawl to anybody she can, it's written in her eyes… She'd rather my T-bone than your TV dinner."

"Oh please sir, judging by that breath you're cooking? Wouldn't trust ya to make her some toast."

A clap of her mouth as she'd look anywhere but them—credit where due, to be put on the spot and actually stand up.

"Talking awful loud, aren't you, for a guy punchin' above weight? Though it's worth quite the laugh, really—loves you so much, she says, yet she's never let you score the slam dunk, crack that home run with bases loaded."

"Hey, once you're done speakin' drunken creep, you wanna lemme know in plain English?"

"SEX! HAVE, YOU, HAD, SEX, WITH, HER?!"

Covering her face with both hands, she'd just sink beneath eyesight hoping the floor would swallow her whole. Didn't even see Thomas turning her way, though would appreciate his rub of a shoulder.

"Our bedroom's not your business, and I will NOT tolerate you talking about her, or I that way. So here goes some good advice, General… Take my offer to take your own seat, and leave us alone."

"You say that like you'll never fail her, not even for a moment. Let me make this clear young man, you will, and I'll be watching every move, waiting for any reason, willing to ensure it happens if necessary."

An attempt at a shove, though didn't get all of it; it'd still send Thomas against the table and almost upon it, where after he'd steady himself, would swear to Jersey eyes coming out.

"Starting now, I guaran-damn-tee I won't be so generous again. Think about that, as I've an entire army, AND friends in high places, AND a loyal assistant who obeys my every command. Farewell."

A wink and clicking tongues her way before he'd call Kif over, and a most mournful goodbye to overhear as she'd watch that wasted sot stumble back. Back at her table, any tough-guy act to fall apart in an instant—collapsing in his seat, Thomas was clenching fists to crack.

"Are you—the fuck you think you're playin' at?"

"Sorry though I am to spring that on you, mind the mouth. As for Moby Dick, you've no need to worry; what he claims against reality is as night and day as one can imagine. Kif being a possible exception, however regrettably."

"And that's s'posed to make it any better? Sure, a valid point to say I've survived worse, but that shouldn't mean I oughta be forced to fight."

"Funny thing about Fate? You get what you're given and it doesn't matter how you feel about it. What does is playing what you're dealt the best you can, and right now, I really need that outta ya."

He'd roll eyes with a sigh, "Least you're the right person to remind me of that. And I s'pose I still owe ya for pulling me out of the same."

His attention to then drift toward a black and glimmering dress, some mysterious woman wearing it—couldn't quite tell without turning, at least. Unfortunately, knew that face the instant they got in Thomas's own; cold eyes forging with a roaring flame, over some perceived offense.

"Hey asshole, you after some beans, black eyes? How 'bout you quit your ogling?"

"Whoa, hey!" he'd shrink back. "Was just checking the dress, I swear I didn't mean—"

"Didn't mean what? You wanna grow some Blerns and tell me?"

"Grow some WHAT? Mind speakin' English for a second, please?"

"You wanna be a smartass with me? See how funny you are with my fist down your—"

"Hey, hey, ease off okay?" would tap a shoulder. "Kid's just got here, doesn't know that much."

Tensed up in advance to see bared teeth and knuckles form instead into a hideous sneer—no doubt an encounter she knew was possible, yet still one she'd hate to have.

"Well how's this to stink up our hall of champions? Trying again to fit where you don't belong, Leela?"

"Wait a bloody minute, you two know—"

Swift hand raised to keep Thomas quiet, as she tried to loosen up. "I'm actually here by his invite, Jackie, just so you know."

"That's Miss Anderson to you, got it?"

"Whatever. Believe it's been years since Mets v. Poindexters; what's been crackin' since?"

"My bat to those tetherballs, that's what. If I actually had challengers, and not chumps learning from your example, would never have scored 250 career Blerns and counting, enjoyed a 50-Blern season or two, and smashed my 25th Grand Slam Blern either."

"The what, the what, and the what?"

"Another word outta you and I'll shove a—"

"Either help him understand, or keep this between us. And how's the trophy cabinet looking?"

"What do you think, really? Geez, such a stupid question to axe… Every Galaxy Series ring, and Finals MVP, bar none."

"Well soorryy"—she'd exaggerate a shrug—"how ungracious of me to rather forget all the head dints and Hall of Shames. Is it not enough, that you stand here as the 'Babe' who'll inspire us for centuries?"

"Never in a million innings," Jackie folded her arms. "Had I the power, I'd personally have you hauled into every game so the fans could bean YOU with beer bottles. That instead you're here mingling among actual achievers, it really turns my stomach."

"Awww, there there poor dear. If you'd like, I can offer my Captain's seat? Pays crumbs by comparison, and can bet the danger's catastrophic at times. A real challenge, I mean, compared to smacking a bunch of tetherballs around."

"Every waking minute of mine, dedicated to cleaning up your mess, and you DARE speak to me like that?"

"If you had the year I've had since giving up the game, Jackie, then forgive me if I forget to give a rat's ass."

"Miss Anderson! A name that demands respect, after all my hours on the diamond, all I give from charities to fans, all the patience I practice for stat dweebs or armchair coaches…"

Virtually got eye to eyes as Jackie, her fury a code red, would replace it with a tranquil seethe.

"Not that that pigskin thing on your face would ever let you experience what that's like."

The deepest breath and pump of fists to acknowledge maybe the most cutting words out of Cookieville's or anybody's lips; Officer, for his part, to turn whiter than Pluto's snow.

"You really wanna keep kicking this hornet's nest?"

"What's the worst you gonna do, that can happen?"

"Oh, I'll get to that… You wanna know, the role I really played for women in sports? One you'd since pay back with backhanded farewells, this tough girl bullcrap?"

Moment Jackie opened those lips, her finger would meet them—if she were smart, and lucky, that'd be all.

"When I first put pen to paper, all Doubledeal gave a damn about were ratings and crowd buys, and not in making me legit, whether as contender or inspiration. Now was I too cocky when I signed you my autograph? Oh you bet—sometimes, still wish I were a rival, rather than THE black mark. But the facts are the facts, and however you feel, there's two things you can do—nothing and like it."

"Oh you better believe I'll be doing—"

"Speak one more word… Let me pay back your favour, while I've got this chance. It turns MY stomach, Jackie, that EVEN as you sign all those fat contracts and lucrative deals, you still whine, bitch, and moan as if you know a DAMN thing about a difficult life! And I will not let you define me over jazzed-up baseball, because you believe that's the only way anybody can inspire somebody."

Could've sworn she'd hear a "Daaammmnnn" which she'd pass a quick smile, as Jackie tried to interrupt again; this time a hand to stop her speaking out of turn.

"You couldn't even shine these heels, sweetie, never mind step in 'em. So, here's a wise word that I suggest you heed… Shut your mouth, beat it, and enjoy the game you've got."

Believed that'd end any argument, though kept tense and ready; sure enough, Jackie to turn for just seconds before she'd wheel right back, palm stretched out to slap tastes out of lips. Wasn't above a wee smug grin, to expertly grab that arm, wrench it into her back, then grip tight at the wrist.

"Ohhh honey, you really wanna try that?" would relish the wincing. "I've no qualms at all if you do, but, might my Officer advise on what'll happen?"

She to beckon with a nod, and he to whisper a story or two of his own; crystal-clear message sent, to note those little trembles through her body, the dilating eyes.

"Answer me this, Miss Anderson… How shall you inspire anybody, when they'll be too scared to see you in public?"

"Okay, okay, you made your point dammit! Please just let me go."

Granting her request, would watch that Hall of Fame shoo-in slink away, red-faced as rubies, and rubbing sore spots all over. Every last effort to not break out in laughter, as she'd readjust and sit back down, not just to see her Officer overcome with awe.

"Woorrdd, that was a real beaut—way to send that A-grade bitch to the dugout, Captain."

"Was honestly a shame it went that far, Thomas. Still, it'd be a lie to say I took no pleasure in it."

Even so, might've wished for a less eventful evening; certain lustre to be lost even before Archbury's waitstaff began to serve up the entrees and main courses.

Judging from the plates of guests around her, would halfway expect a feast fit for a queen no matter the meat—prime ribeye or lobster, as examples. Instead, as she'd gaze upon a salad covered in gold leaf, and they cubes of food fancily swirled in sauces, had to believe they'd gotten rather stiffed.

"Top-shelf whiskey and wine the whole night, whenever requested, yet now we get THIS to eat? That what it means to enjoy the best?"

The fanciest she'd known and no mistake, but it'd matter not to finish within seconds, as did everybody else, and might've done so for having seconds were they offered. At least Elzar, with prices high as his ego, could usually back them both up on the rare occasion she'd go, or rarer still, on a date.

The majority sat around her, however, to take full advantage of this generosity—including Thomas, many magnitudes calmer but rather the worse for wear. A dread to work in her gut when her bosses rose wobbly out their seat, presumably for a seminar, and Zoidberg of all beings would assist with the auction.

Just the crew sat by themselves before long, and then a particular voice to draw their attention—the ceremony master, who'd invite them personally.

"Evening you three; trust we're having a great time with the meets, greets and good eats?"

"Ehhh, well, maybe just been unlucky, but—"

"Yes yes, that's nice to know. Anyway, I believe we've some talks taking place in a few"—would check a watch then point—"mayhaps you get a move on so you don't miss out?"

"We would've sir, but our Officer here's got us worried. Might stay here or leave early, keep an eye—"

"Leave him to me, and I'll ensure he sobers up. Least I could do, to be graced by you this evening."

"Awww, we were thrilled to tag along, the charm wasn't so necessary. Well Amy, what do you think, worth checking a few out? I know my night and spirits could use a pick-me-up."

"I guess so, but can we be sure that the kid's gonna be okay?"

"My guarantee is as good as gold, young lady. In point of fact, he'll get the means to remain as such, for the rest of his days."

Both she and Amy to think nothing of Thomas being helped up and led away; true to Archbury's word, she was soon delighting in the stories of several champions' heads of conservation—the cheeky larrikin larks of Steve Irwin, to the enrapturing accounts of Sir David Attenborough, among others.

After a few of those Q&As, and taking in an auction or two, she to go by herself to check out the exotic creatures Archbury'd kept in captivity, a collection the likes very few had ever seen, or so her invite would advertise.

But as she'd lay eye upon a literal boxing kangaroo, that large brown snake with big spots, and especially that hovering spider the span of a dinner plate, a Gordian knot of sorts would grow inside her guts, and not only from serious risks of starving.

"Wait, wait a minute, swear I've dealt with these in a different life… What were in those wines I'd indulge in?"