Beach Party - Part 4 of 4: The Big Kahuna

Processing, and the collection of possessions including Urad’s winnings, was relatively quick, though Zir had enough time to continue to apologise. “I’m so sorry to have taken you away from whatever you were doing, Sir. If it’s something the Squad or I can do on your behalf-”

“I doubt it.”

“I mean it, Sir. Whatever it is, we’ll take over!”

“I was in bed with the wife, giving her Fluttertail.”

Zir was sure her skin turned a shade of olive never before seen in nature, unsure of exactly what the Caitian meant, but not daring to enquire further. “Perhaps you’re right, Sir.”

“Perhaps.” Soon they were back outside again. Hrelle breathed in the ocean air. “Well, I’d better get back. Enjoy the rest of your shore leave.”

Zir glanced in confusion at the others. “Sir? Aren’t you taking us back to the ship as punishment?”

“Punishment? For what? Having to get collected from the police station during shore leave? Feh! You’re a pack of amateurs compared to what Captain Weynik and I got up to at your age. Go on, have fun, before the Older Generation descends tomorrow to embarrass all of you.”

“Uh, Captain,” Zir interrupted, grateful to him for his leniency, but still worried. “What about Salazar? He can’t be allowed to get away with what he did.”

Hrelle regarded her before replying. “And he won’t. I’ll have a quiet talk with him, Man to Man. I’m sure he’ll see reason.” He raised a finger to them. “None of you are to even think of contacting him again, or going near him. Those are my orders. Understood?”

Zir nodded, and looked to the others to make sure they agreed. “Captain, are you sure you'll be okay dealing with him?”

“Trust the Big Kahuna. Oh, and Mr Kaldron, give me those bars of latinum, I don’t want you or the others causing any more of a fuss during your stay.” As he accepted them, he tapped his combadge. “Hrelle to Surefoot: Energise.”

“Thank you again, Sir,” Zir finished, as he dissolved away, and she breathed out with relief. “I thought we were going to be dragged back to the ship in irons. I bet we would have, too, if it had been Commander T’Varik getting us.” As they made a collective move to walk down to the Boardwalk, she asked, “Anyone know what a ‘Big Kahuna’ is?”

“The word ‘Kahuna’ derives from the Terran Hawaiian dialect,” Stalac informed her. “Meaning a priest or shaman. Later adapted with the adjective ‘Big’ to refer to the senior or most important person in a particular group.”

“In surfer lingo it also means a big wave,” Peter added helpfully.

Tori smirked. “So you learned something more from your boyfriend than how to suppress your gag reflex?”

“Tori!” Zir scolded. “There’s no need to be crude! Anyway, what about you? What did you get up to on your own?”

Tori snorted. “Me? Nothing. Nothing ever happens to me.”

Then she cursed as she heard the rapidly-rising roar of engine sounds coming up the Boardwalk.

“What in the worlds-” Peter started, as the group turned at the approach of a half-dozen leather-clad humanoids on hoverbikes, drawing up to a halt.

“Mmm,” Stalac rumbled. “Should I do a number from West Side Story?”

The lead biker hopped off and approached Tori, dropping to one knee. “Baby Doll! We’ve been all over looking for you! Your lover has arrived!”

“What the hell-” Zir asked, thoroughly confused.

“Buzz,” Tori groaned. “Why won’t you take the hint? Were you dropped a lot as a baby?”

He rose back to his feet, beaming. “I brought you a token of my devotion!”

“It’d better be a suicide note.”

He turned back – and Zir noticed with alarm that one of the bikers had a passenger behind him… and the passenger had some sort of bag over their head. As they dragged the passenger off the bike, three things became obvious: the stylish purple suit, the bound paws, and the purple-grey tail swishing from the passenger’s rear end.

Buzz drew the passenger up to Tori, grinning broadly. “I got him for you! You wanted to meet him, so-” He pulled the sack off of the head, revealing a young, handsome, bewildered-looking Caitian male with a short lavender muzzle, sharp, twitching ears… and the widest, dreamiest eyes.

Tori gasped, drawing Zir’s attention, but though the human woman seemed to want to say something, and her mouth even opened, nothing came out.

“You’re David Meowie,” Zir completed for her stricken squadmate. “You’re the one Tori’s been talking about.”

Bixmyx chuckled at Tori. “You like him, Baby Doll? I got him just for you! He can sing at our wedding!”

Alpha Squad looked to Tori, Peter asking, “Wedding?”

“Wedding?” Zir echoed.

“Maybe I should have offered a number from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers?” Stalac opined.

“I like Terran wedding cake,” Urad noted. “Better order a separate one for me to eat.”

The additional banter seemed to shake Tori from her fugue state, and she forced herself to look away from Meowie and focus on the Iotian gang leader. “You… DIPSHIT! I told you a hundred times already, Picnics, I’m not your Baby Doll, your Chickie, your squeeze, your old lady, your ANYTHING! I can’t believe you and these other greased-up sacks of stembolts have kidnapped the greatest singer in the Galaxy, if not the whole Universe-”

“Thank you,” Meowie replied humbly.

“-And now you’re gonna get your dumbasses thrown in jail over nothing! Nice one, Bisquik!”

Bixmyx chuckled, looking to his gang. “Relax, Baby Doll, relax, you’re gonna give yourself a corollary! We got him without any problems!”

Sirens filled the air, as police hovercars swept in to land on either side of the assembled group.

“We got him with hardly any problems,” Bixmyx amended.

“Oh Gods,” Zir moaned. “We’re gonna get arrested, again. Captain Hrelle is gonna kill us.”

Now Meowie looked to the Orion. “Esek Hrelle? You’re from the Surefoot?”

“Yes! Do you know him?”

The Caitian nodded, but before he could explain further, uniformed police officers surrounded and approached, one of them drawing up to the Caitian. “Mr Meowie, we were alerted that you had been abducted from outside your hotel by this, uh, gang.”

Bixmyx blanched. “Who said that? That’s slenderous! What would make you think it was us?”

The constable spared a glance at him. “The hotel security cameras recorded you riding up, grabbing him, and then riding away, while you shouted at the top of your lungs, ‘The Black Knights have taken David Meowie! The Black Knights have taken David Meowie!’”

Peter looked at one of the gang member’s jackets. “I think it’s ‘Black Knits’.”

“Well, I’m not convinced they did it,” Stalac quipped. “These Carbs don’t seem bright enough for something like that.”

“Yeah!” Bixmyx agreed, pointing to the Horta. “What the Giant Talking Burger said!”

“I believe there’s been some confusion, Constable,” Meowie interjected mildly. “These… gentlemen… haven’t abducted me, they helped me find my friends here, so that I can offer them admission to the VIP Section of the concert tonight.”

Tori gasped, and the rest of Alpha Squad made sounds of surprise and approval.

“Yeah, see?” Bixmyx exclaimed. “What he said, too! We’re not kidnappers! The worst thing we’ve ever done is illegally ride around on the Boardwalk!”

The police looked to each other. “You’re the ones who have been doing that?”

Peter rubbed at his forehead. “We have to get away, I’m worried their idiocy might be an airborne contagion.”

One police scan later, and the Constable announced, “Gentlemen, we’re confiscating these vehicles for the duration of your stay on Sherman’s Planet.”

Bixmyx blanched. “No! You can’t do this to Buzz Bixmyx! Our rides are our lives! You take them away, and it’s like you’re casterating us! Tell them, Baby Doll!”

But Alpha Squad had already begun walking away with Meowie, Zir telling the Caitian, “Thank you for that, Sir. I promise you we had nothing to do with getting Tori’s fiancé to kidnap you.”

Tori looked ready to protest in typical profane fashion – but one look in Meowie’s direction, and her voice vanished into a wormhole.

The singer shrugged. “Oh, I knew that, the moment I heard you were some of Hrelle’s Cubs.”

“You talk like you know him, Sir.”

“I owe him; he introduced me to his human friend Bowie two years ago, who gave me his blessing to base my own act on his.” He smiled to himself. “Now, he’s a Cool Cat.”

They arrived back at the hotel, Meowie turning to them once more. “Thank you, I’ll be sure to let them know at the VIP gates to expect you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready for tonight.”

“Of course, Sir.” Zir indicated the wide-eyed, still-mute Tori. “Tori’s actually very delighted to meet you, Mr Meowie. She’s your Number One Fan.”

“So I gathered.” He went up to her and took her hand in his paw. “A pleasure to meet you too, young lady. You never let me get a word in whenever we talk, but you’re very charming about it. I hope you enjoy the concert tonight.”

“I love you,” she finally declared breathlessly.

“I get that a lot,” Meowie admitted to Zir, having to work to get Tori to let go of his paw, before entering the hotel.

Then Tori immediately recovered, beaming and talking animatedly at the others as if a switch had been thrown. “Did you see him? Did you see him? DID YOU SEE HIM?”

“Who?” Stalac joked.

“It was really him!” the girl continued, as they proceeded back to the beach. “Even more handsome and charming and debonair in real life! And we get to stand in the VIP Section tonight! None of those skidmarks on the other Squads will get to do that, will they?” She nodded to herself. “I’m so glad I kept my cool with him. I’m pretty sure he’s got the hots for me...”

Zir let the girl carry on, as she drew closer to Astrid. “Everything’s going to be okay. The Captain will take care of things.”

The human woman looked dubious. “I wish I could believe you.”

The Orion put an arm around Astrid’s. “Trust in the Captain. The Big Kahuna can be very persuasive.”

*

Salazar poured himself another drink in the dark of his hotel room; it was evening, and from the music making his window vibrate, the beach concert had begun as he stared at the tripartite screen, waiting for the hotel to complete securing the subspace feeds to the Federation News Service, the Ferengi Information Network and Quadrant Media.

This was going to be sweet, he told himself. He’d given them a taste of the recording, enough to whet their appetites and arrange to bid for the rights to the rest of it.

Any of them would be a fine way for him to make the fortune he so richly deserved.

Life had not been easy for him. It never had been: bowing and scraping and serving the Haut Galaxie, catering to their privileged whims until his pride couldn’t stand it any longer, and he found himself fired… and then again, and again. He drifted through the Quadrant for years, using the knowledge and mannerisms he had picked up observing rich people to pass himself off as one of them, fleecing the gullible in various schemes, until he ended up out here, eking a meagre living defrauding local businesses.

And, when necessary, he used the Clamp, to clean out their accounts, or to participate in various compromising recordings that made profitable blackmail material.

And then that little puta walked into the restaurant at the Marina; he had remembered listening to the talk among Michel’s contemporaries at the time about what might have happened, but never in a million years thought he could employ that knowledge towards what could be one of the most profitable ventures in his life.

He grunted to himself. That bitch walked around like she was still somebody. What a fraud. Now he regretted not getting her back here and having her leave bow-legged-

Distractedly he heard the hotel door slide open, but he didn’t turn his head until he felt someone rush up to him, before a large, hard, furred paw smacked him in the jaw, sending teeth flying and sending him hurtling backwards to tumble over the bed.

As he landed on the other side, he forced his body to respond, to not sink into shock, to rise and call for help. But before he could spit the blood in his mouth to make a sound, he felt paws grab him by his shirt and lift him up, flinging him through the air to smack into the nearest wall. Pain shot through his shoulder where he hit, and then again as he collapsed to the carpet, and panic raced through him. Quién diablos-

His attacker dragged him back up to his feet long enough to drive a jackhammer punch into the man’s gut, making him double over and bring up his dinner and whiskey.

Salazar lay in a heap, unable to even move himself out of the puddle of his own vomit he had fallen into; distantly he heard his room being ransacked, and a deep baritone voice say, “Computer: Privacy Mode, Do Not Disturb, Manual Override Only.”

Salazar gasped, struggled to fight through the pain in his jaw, his head, his stomach – well, everywhere, really – and uncoil himself. He had to get away. He had to get outside and call for help. The carpet scratched at his face as he crawled towards the door, getting closer, closer-

A paw grabbed him again, lifted him up and flung him into the far corner of the room, where he lay on the carpet, unable to move. Salazar looked up, eyes widening as he got his first glimpse of his attacker: a large-framed, brown-furred Caitian male in black civilian clothes, who had Salazar’s recorder in his paws… and was now breaking it open and destroying the memory core. “Where’s your synaptic clamp, Mr Salazar?”

The man spat out more blood from where his teeth had been, and he fought the urge to want to throw up again as he spoke, recognising the individual now. “I- I know who you are-”

The Caitian cast aside the remains of the recorder, before looking around the room, his tail twitching. “I asked you where your clamp is hidden. I know you won’t have destroyed it, it’s far too valuable to you. But you would have hidden it, just in case one of your victims might have called your bluff and reported you. You should tell me. Soon. Very soon.”

Salazar tried to focus. He knew the captain had some badass reputation. But fighting Klingons was one thing. This was something else entirely. He was as subject to the law as anyone else! “You- You can’t do this to me- you’re Starfleet- you- you follow rules, Hrelle-”

The Caitian never looked at him. “Hrelle? You mean Captain Hrelle? That’s not me. Do you see a uniform, pips on my collar? No. I heard Captain Hrelle is on the other side of the planet right now, with his lovely wife and son in a quaint little bistro. I believe it’s called the Convenient Alibi.” He drew in closer, leaning over Salazar and baring his teeth. “I can’t help but notice that you still haven’t answered my question. I really think you should... or your luck is gonna downgrade from Bad to Catastrophic.”

The man looked up… and saw the truth in the Caitian’s eyes. Dios, he was really willing to- to- He gathered his voice and started shouting, “HELP ME! HELP ME, HE’S GOING TO KILL ME-”

Hrelle knelt and clamped a paw over the man’s mouth, silencing him. “There’s no one on this floor, or in fact on the floors above or below; everyone’s at the concert. Still, I don’t want to waste any more time with you, so…” With his free paw, Hrelle grabbed Salazar’s left hand, getting a hold of the base of the thumb. “There’s some things you need to understand about me, Mr Salazar.

One: I strive to be a decent, peace-loving man.”

He dislocated Salazar’s thumb.

Salazar screamed into Hrelle’s other paw.

Hrelle moved onto Salazar’s forefinger. “Two: my endeavour to do this flies out the proverbial airlock when one of my cubs is assaulted by a grubby, filthy little kussik like you.”

He dislocated Salazar’s forefinger.

Salazar screamed again, never believing that the agony he had just experienced could be exceeded… but was brutally proven wrong.

Hrelle moved onto Salazar’s middle finger. “Three: I’m prepared to continue this with the rest of your fingers. And then your toes. And then your genitals. And if you think your penis can’t be dislocated, well, you’re in for a treat-”

Salazar shook his head desperately, mouthing sounds of surrender under the Caitian’s paw. Hrelle released his hold, as the human gasped, barely able to respond, “M-Med- Media Unit- wall c-c-coupling-”

“Of course. Now stay here, and stay quiet.” Hrelle rose and approached the display on the wall facing the bed, peering behind the coupling – before stopping and withdrawing what looked like a small scanner from a pocket, holding it up for Salazar to see. “Mother’s Cubs, I forgot I had this on me! I could have used this to find the Clamp without hurting you.” He pocketed it again and shrugged. “Sorry. Me = Big Dumb Cat.”

Seconds later, the curved device dropped down from its hiding spot and into his paw. He studied it as he returned to the corner of the room. “Yes, I remember these. In my final year of servitude, I served on a Corvallen freighter. They would use this to punish slaves, making them hurt themselves, or each other… or, if the slave had outlived his usefulness, they’d simply leave them attached until the slave had a massive stroke and died.”

Then he looked down at the man again, his voice descending into a growl. “Mr Salazar… when you had this on Ms Michel... did you touch her? How much advantage of her did you take when she was helpless?”

Salazar’s pulse raced, and he kept coughing, just so as not to meet his gaze.

“No,” the Caitian continued, pocketing the Clamp as well. “Say nothing. Neither of us want to go down that road.” He brought his right hand to his muzzle and touched something half-hidden on his wrist. “Well?”

A female voice responded. “We accessed his comlink history through the hotel, identified the news sources Salazar contacted earlier, and have sent them messages informing them that he falsified his recordings, and was now under Starfleet investigation. And we’ve accessed his local credit account, cleaned it out, and used what was there to buy the ticket; the ship is scheduled to leave orbit in six hours. You ready to return yet, Uncle Esek?”

“Stand by.” He lowered his paw as he regarded Salazar once more. “We have just booked passage for you off of Sherman’s Planet: a one-way, non-refundable voyage on a Miradorn freighter currently in orbit. They’re delivering supplies to Harod IX.

You won’t have heard of it; it’s a harsh, tiny Class-L world just outside of Federation space, inhabited by a small order of hard-working, highly ascetic monks who spend their days tilling fields by hand, and their nights fasting and chanting. It’s well off the beaten track, as they say; they usually only get visitors once every five or ten years, but apparently that’s how they like it. Hopefully you’ll learn to like it, too.”

Salazar stared up, the agony in his hand momentarily cast aside. “Wha- What? I’m not- I’m not going there!”

Hrelle stared at him. “Why not? It sounds character building, and you could do with getting the one you currently have torn down and reconstructed.”

“You- You can’t do this to me!”

“And yet, here I am, doing it. A horrible feeling, isn't it? To feel so helpless, at the mercy of others? I know that feeling. Very well. Someone would have to be a real bastard to put another sentient being through that ordeal. Don’t you think?”

Now Salazar’s shock and disbelief quickly boiled into outrage. “You... hypocrite! You talk about protecting your precious Cubs, you look on me like I’m some piece of shit-”

“No argument from me on either of those points.”

“-But what Charles Michel did to that little bitch was far worse! What you’re doing to me is ultimately helping him! Justifying his actions! Did you think about that?”

Hrelle seemed to consider his words, before replying. “You’re right about Charles Michel. He wove a conspiracy of silence to protect his reputation, his pride, and alienated and threatened a young woman whose only crime was being used as a pawn by the mother she never knew. And if he was here, in your place, he might have ended up where you are now.

But he isn’t here. You are. And even if we forget your utterly selfish motivations and disgusting way you obtained the truth from Astrid… it still isn’t your truth to reveal. And if someday she chooses to reveal it to the Galaxy of her own free will, she can count on me to support her unconditionally.”

Then he leaned in close, until Salazar was pressing himself back into the corner, as Hrelle continued. “You, on the other paw, can count on me to deliver you this treatment, and this message:

There are a hundred different ways I can kill you, not only without leaving any trace of it coming back to me, but without leaving any trace of you. I could phaser you out of existence, or tractor you into the upper atmosphere and drop you. I could beam you to the bottom of the ocean, or to the polar caps, or into space, or simply into patterns of energy. I could infest you with alien poisons or pathogens that no one knows about or has any cure for, or inject Nanites into you to disassemble you into a puddle of organic goo.

Or I could just simply eat you and shit your remains down the toilet.

And whichever way I chose, I would do it without a first thought, let alone a second.

Instead, I’m giving you a chance, because I’m a sweet guy and I’d like to go home to my wife and cub without blood on my claws – literal or proverbial. The freighter leaves orbit in six hours; get to the spaceport and be onboard. Don’t go to the police. Don’t try to contact the media again, or tell anyone what you learned from Cadet Michel. And especially don’t make me come looking for you.”

He rose again, nodding to Salazar’s injured hand and face. “We’ll call the freighter and let them know that you had an accident while packing; their doctor should be able to fix you up. So the sooner you get onboard, the better.” He reached for his wrist communicator. “I’m ready.” He spared Salazar a final glare as he beamed away, leaving behind, “Adios, puta.”

*

Zir stayed in the back of her group in the VIP area, content to let Tori, Peter and Urad draw the attention of the others with their dancing… or in the case of Stalac, who was on a raised dais, with his very existence (though he did get requests from many other attendees from the beach who came up asking him for a few show tunes).

The Orion chose to hang with a subdued Astrid, watching the different bands that would materialise onstage, perform five or six songs, and then beam out again, replaced by another act. The crowds were bouncing and bopping, and the evening had brought a cool breeze sweeping in from the moonlit ocean. Zir leaned in closer. “Another drink?”

Astrid shook her head.

“Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“You don’t know that, Zir.”

The Squad Leader blinked; Astrid never used her first name, it was typically ‘Sweetie’, ‘Darling’, ‘Fearless Leader’ etcetera. “I’ve worked with the Captain more closely than the rest of you. When he says he’ll take care of something, he does.” Just then, she felt her combadge buzz from its place under the blouse she had slipped into before coming to the concert. “Speaking of whom...” She touched it through her clothes. “Dassene here.”

The combadge, recognising the ambient noise from the music, reached her subcutaneously, making her feel like a tiny Hrelle was sitting inside her ear, talking. “Zir, tell Astrid not to worry, we have the clamp and the other evidence, there’ll be no story, and she’ll never see Salazar again.”

Zir grinned, giving a thumbs up to Astrid. “That’s excellent news, Captain. Thank you.” Then her grin dropped. “Uh, what did you do to Mr Salazar, Sir?”

“Me? Nothing. He found religion. Now both of you stop looking so miserable.”

She blinked, looking around. “Uh… are you here, Sir?”

“No, but the concert is being broadcast to the rest of the planet and the orbiting vessels, and the VIP section keeps getting featured.”

Suddenly feeling self-conscious – Gods, please don’t let them have broadcast images of me picking my nose or scratching my pits – she breathed in. “We’ll try, Captain-”

“Cadet, a word of advice: Don’t wait for life to get easier, or better, or simpler. Life will always be complicated. Learn to be happy right now. And when you do, encourage others. Hrelle out.”

The last band, Wyld Stallyns, differed from the others in not beaming out, but disappearing in a booth, though their instruments were transported away. Zir took the momentary silence to slip an arm around Astrid’s and lead the surprised girl to the others. “The Big Kahuna’s taken care of Salazar.”

Peter beamed. “Great news!”

“Indeed, Comrades,” Urad added. “We should celebrate with a Midnight Feast!”

“It’s only nine o’clock,” Tori pointed out.

Urad frowned. “This is not acceptable.” He turned to Stalac. “Shall we go drag back the nearest buffet table, my silicon squadmate?”

The Horta had been tapping part of his perimeter to the beat of the music, but now stopped and turned to face the Hroch. “I feel sick. I need some calcium to settle my digestive mesh.”

“What was this magical substance that got you drunk anyway?”

“I… I can’t remember. My Egg Mother would take a chip out of me if she was here.”

“Don’t kick yourself too much,” Zir advised, adding quickly. “You know what I mean. Don’t wait for life to get easier, or better, or simpler. Life will always be complicated. Learn to be happy right now. And when you do, encourage others.” She looked to Peter. “If you want to go find Brad-”

But he shook his head, smiling. “Maybe tomorrow. Tonight, I want to be with you guys. You’re good company.”

Zir smiled with appreciation; she had thought about going out looking for Niles, but she agreed with Peter’s sentiments.

Suddenly the announcer declared, “And now here he is, the Caitian Sensation: DAVID MEOWIE!”

The crowd, seemingly led by Tori, roared and applauded, as the singer and his band beamed onto the stage, David stepping forward, tail swishing excitedly behind him as his throat mike carried his voice. “Are we having a good time, Sherman’s Planet?”

The crowd cheered – again, with Tori seemingly leading them with a loud, “HELL, YEAH!”

“That’s fine,” Meowie responded. “Real fine. And now-”

Suddenly there was a deafening roar from the direction of the ocean, as if a mighty wave had crashed upon rocks, and all eyes in the audience turned outward, where a monstrous green-brown humanoid figure rose up from the waters.

Zir stared in awe. It had to be at least a hundred metres tall, with seaweed covering its green-scaled arms and chest and shoulder, its body topped with a large head with glowing red eyes and fish-like fins on the side.

The crowd went mute.

Then someone cried, “IT’S THE HORROR OF PARTY BEACH!”

It was true. The stories were true!

Zir reached for her combadge. She had to contact the Surefoot, call for assistance, arrange for a torpedo strike on the monster before it reached the shore and began rampaging-

But then hers, and the crowd’s attention, returned to the stage, where Meowie called out, “Don’t panic, folks! I know what he’s come for!”

Then his band started playing, and he started singing. “Let’s dance / Put on your red shoes and dance the blues / Let’s dance / To the song they’re playin’ on the radio...”

For a moment, Zir stared dumbfounded. Was Meowie crazy? Did he really think that his music would have an effect on a leviathan like-

“LOOK!” someone cried.

She looked, along with everyone else… as the Horror began rocking in the water, dancing to the music, arms raised high as if trying to catch the tiny moon overhead.

The crowd went wild. Zir remained confused. What was going on?

“It’s a hologram,” Stalac explained. “I’m getting no spectrographic signature from it that I would from a solid figure.”

“What?” Peter exclaimed. “You mean it’s part of the show?”

“Damn,” Urad muttered. “I was looking forward to fighting it.”

Zir still stared in disbelief. A stage trick? That thing could have caused a panic! That was irresponsible, criminal! That was-

That was pretty cool, she decided, as she watched the Horror continue boogeying. Joined by the rest of the audience.

Meowie was awesome. And as he continued, she leaned into Astrid and offered, “Wanna dance? I should warn you, my dancing is about as sexy as a flight safety manual.”

Astrid stared at the other woman as if seeing her for the first time, before smirking. “Don’t worry, Darling, I can teach you a few things.”

“Here or in bed?”

Astrid’s mouth dropped open at the remark.

Zir laughed. “So you can be rendered speechless...”

THE ADVENTURES OF THE SUREFOOT WILL RETURN IN… SREENITY