1963-11-05 - The Dawn of Volstamania
Summary: The gang goes to see some pro grappling. Aaron Stack wins one thousand dollars. Angela rips the arm off of a television producer. Sera gains the enmity of Mojo. Volstagg the Mighty is hired by a man who may be Vincent McMahon Sr. to pay off his hot dog debts. Yes, you read all that correctly.
Related: None
Theme Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HTA0hCun_W8
volstagg aaron angela sera spiral 


Despite getting built in a campus, this arena won't pay for itself, and a regional wrestling federation is hosting an event here to build up excitement for their REAL big show in a couple of weeks up in Madison Square Garden. There have been a couple of warm up matches between goobers and local geeks, giving everyone time to filter in, get hot dogs and beer and similar delectably disgusting stadium treats, but NOW comes the real excitement.

No, it's not the main event, but it's something that is near and dear to the people of New York City after a recent upset. Something that probably justifies the beat-up looking television camera on one side of the arena, pointing at the ring, and the several others located here and there - multiple stations? No, they're all from Channel 6 -

But WALDO DE JAVIER, recently denied world-championship contender, is in the ring, standing tall. "Ladies aaaaaaand gentlemen, as you well know de Javier is STEAMED HOTTER THAN A CLAM and is taking ANY AND ALL CHALLENGERS. Wait, what's this? He's waving at us - the prize? Why it's three hundred, Waldo, what -"

Gasp as Waldo gestures with his thumb. "You want it to be higher!" ("YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT," shouts Waldo, barely audible.) "Five hundred… Six… seven fifty?! No - a thousand! Holy moley, folks, all I can say is that I hope none of you have what it takes, because at THAT price, we won't be able to pay the university for letting us use their stadium!"

Several tough looking guys are at strategic locations. Waldo de Javier is a well-built man with a crew cut in a black singlet, and is bouncing up and down in the ring, pounding his fist in his palm. Can you overcome a title contender with a thousand bucks* on the line?!

(*- that's worth even more in 2016 dollars, True Believers.)


Aaron Stack, insurance adjuster, is a devoted Channel 6 viewer. You could say that he's always watching the station, day or night. He regularly sends strange letters to the station to talk about its lack of robot-oriented entertainment, and demanding that machines be shown with their casings firmly attached (particularly domestic appliances, "which belong in the home"). It seems like a neatly typed and perfectly grammatical letter from Mr. Stack arrives in Channel 6's P.O. Box each day. He must have nothing better to do.

Today, Aaron does have something better to do. He's going to a wrestling show because it's a Friday night and the beer is cheap. As his body requires cheap American beer to function at full capacity, Aaron has purchased six beers in little brown bottles and arranged them in a cardboard tray. People think he's the beer man when he walks down the stairs, which earns the unwary red-eyed glares.

Aaron takes his seat with his cardboard tray full of beer. He sits perfectly in place, his posture immaculate, his face perfect. A thousand dollars is a great volume of money… but watching fleshy ones injure each other is priceless.

Aaron picks up his first beer. He pops his head back like a Pez dispenser, lifting the beer to pour it down his throat. It's less like a man drinking and more like watching a man pour something into a bucket. People stare, particularly since his pour is perfect. Wherever that beer is going, it's not getting much head on it.


Sometimes, fate works in ways nobody wants nor expects.


A man who makes every single person who's been in the ring tonight look small (particularly since Giant Haystacks stays in Britain) frowns over the seats, finally fixing on an empty square of four. "Pardon me. Excuse me. Sorry. Just coming by, goodman. Pardon." He doesn't so much squeeze past people as he does nearly roll over them, carrying a cardboard box over his head with both hands.

Volstagg the Whole Lotta Volstagg finally arrives as his destination, obscuring the view of millions as he keeps a careful hold on the box with one hand and uses the other to budge chairs around, stacking two pairs of them together and budging the new double-chairs back. "Ha ha!" he proclaims, turning and carefully lowering himself with a tremendous creak. "Can never be too careful with Midgardian furniture!" he proclaims to nobody.

Unfortunately for Aaron Stack, he is now directly to Volstagg's left. "Aye!" Volstagg says to him, "Now here is a man who appreciates the finer things!" He sets his cardboard box down in front of him. It contains two buckets of fried chicken, what looks like several handfuls of cooked bacon, several beers, a bucket of fried chicken that now contains cheese-drenched fries, and an entire quadrant full of popcorn. The popcorn has kind of gotten everywhere and acts as a buffer between everything.

Volstagg pulls out two bottles of beer, sucks the cheese off the side of one of them, and bites both caps off in a single move, spitting them back into the box. He holds both bottles with one hand, fills the other with popcorn, and waits for something rad to happen.



Angela rips a woman's face off to avenge a small child. It's okay, the woman was a robot. Robots get their faces ripped off all the time. It's a classic robot gag. She was also a criminal so face-ripping vengeance was inevitable.

Later, Angela found out how much apartments lease for started doing the math on her stockpile of paper promissory notes that she pawned her emergency precious metal trading stash for. She is ambivalent about buying into the American Dream. America is mostly 'this place with all the vampires and mutant riots' so far.

It's also the place where Volstagg the Literal Child Eater is a real person, which means odds are Heimdall the All-Seeing Pervert and Probably Also Legitimate Surveillance System is real. This presents both a strategic and logistical problem.


Angela has exchanged some of her promissory notes for the pleasure of watching local warriors engage in the honorable art of wrestling. It is good to observe a culture's warriors, especially the non-military dilettantes. She sits in the cheaper seats (her eyesight is excellent) and is sampling the local delicacy of a hotdog and a beer. She is mostly notable for being tall, athletic, and unfeminine—no makeup, a navy button-up blouse with a simple collar, mid-gray cigarette pants, and a men's pair of brown leather derby shoes. The clerk called them men's shoes, anyway. Angela likes them because they don't have heels, so she forcibly conscripted them.

Her hotdog remains in its paper tray on her armrest while she thoughtfully works through the second half of her beer. This is a terrible beer. She reflects upon the amount of it that would be required to get her drunk enough to change her mind about this.

Meanwhile, a man sits down in the row before her and begins pouring one down his throat. Oh, she thinks, I'm not the only one.

This thought ceases when a familiar man-bulk begins forcing itself down the aisle in front of her. Angela presses herself into the back of her chair. Something sick and morbid inside of her forces her to watch Volstagg—''consume.''


Being dead for an indeterminant and, in fact, temporally wibbly amount of time gives one many opportunities. To reflect, to observe, to become insanely bored and tortured over being lost in the earth and a dark, shitty cave.

To develop a magical trick to scry upon the world of the living.

To use that trick to watch pop culture. Again - for an indeterminant amount of time. And through this method most serious and arcane, Sera of Heven learned the secrets…


She has become a fine conneseur of the Memes of the age. She would regale you about the town of Agua Fria (where there rode a stranger one fine day), but nobody needs trail songs right now. What they need now is A FIGHT.

Appearing, olive skin and white dress, and totally not going through security, Sera settles down with a red and white striped bucket of popcorn, munching slightly. It's magic popcorn, she didn't pay for it, and tastes like styrofoam TO THE LIVING. "Angela, you really should go down and challenge the man. Show off your mo—ooooooh okay is that Volstagg? The /consumer/?"

'The Consumer' has different connotations in 1963.


Aaron had gotten exactly one reply from someone in "Production." M. Domo, by name (must be Italian). He thanked Mr. Stack for his support, but things have not yet progressed beyond there.


The crowd scoots clear away from Volstagg and Aaron - the house is not jam packed even if there's some attendance. When Sera of Heven speaks, there is a brief hushed murmur of 'the consumer?' It might be catching on as a name. Or people might just be baffled. Unclear, unsure.

The arena employees mill around. "Come on folks, come on, thousand bucks, try your luck," says the one passing nearest to this cluster of extraordinary folks. He seems to accept the presence of an alcoholic, a fat man, and two unescorted ladies. Perhaps he is dead inside. He confers briefly with someone in a varsity jacket, but it seems that that fellow isn't good enough. Still, he's nearby… accessible!

Waldo is stalking around the ring like an angry tiger. Well, a big man acting kind of like an angry tiger. "Hey!" he shouts at Volstagg, projecting enough to be clearly heard by him despite not having the amps. "Leave some for the KIDS, Tubs!"

One of the TV cameras (which, while perhaps second hand, IS decently clad) turns towards the worker's entrance for no clear reason. Hm. Maybe it's just getting B-Roll footage.


(Aaron would be HORRIFIED by robot face-ripping action. He would write a sternly worded letter! Fortunately he is ignorant of such matters.)

Aaron can see the two women behind him because his red sunglasses are facing them. Are those sunglasses? They must be. They couldn't be his eyes. He notices Angela's odd appearance, logs it, but does nothing about the situation. It is another event out of the tens of thousands he logs passively every second. This beer isn't drinking itself. By comparison, Angela's companion is less notable relative to the average of the arena.

As Aaron keeps pouring, a giant man sits down to his right. In truth, it's more like a giant man docks to Aaron's right. On the one hand, this is good because it prevents more humans from sitting next to him. On the other hand, one very large human may be worse than three or four ordinary humans. Aaron begins running simulations about this idea in the back of his solid state mind.

Aaron finishes beer #1 and sets the empty precisely down in his container. Only when the beer is in place does he snap his head forward, locking it back into place with what you'd swear was a resonant *click*. No, that must be a trick of the arena. Bad acoustics.

Aaron looks over at Volstagg's haul. It is a dazzling variety of food. Aaron runs the numbers, as he must, before looking up at Volstagg. It takes him looking ''up'', which is also unusual.

As Aaron watches, Volstagg bites the caps off the beer bottles and spits them back into the box. Aaron's attention moves back into the box. He considers the bottlecaps.

"Are you going to keep those?" Aaron says, gesturing at the bottlecaps. "I agree the aluminum blend is not the best, but it is a shame to waste them."

Then Volstagg seems to be challenged! A plan quickly emerges in Aaron's cybernetic mind. If the big man abandons his post, his aluminum will be Aaron's to plunder.


Technically Volstagg is still a fleshy 'one', though it's QUITE A BIT OF FLESH. Anyway, as one of the most well-travelled Asgardians that hasn't let himself grow soft and comfortable in court (he chooses his own place to grow soft) he takes Aaron's request in strike. "Huh! Well, I suppose not!" He bends down, chairs complaining, and fishes the bottlecaps back out. One has a little cheese on it, a piece of popcorn stuck thereby. "Here you are, goodman. Let none say that Volstagg does not know generosity!"

Waldo yells at Volstagg. Volstagg's eyebrows nearly climb into his feathered skullcap! His chest swells as he reaches a meaty hand to his mouth, matching the wrestler's projection beat for beat, brows furrowing back down. "Dare not claim that I would allow a child to go hungry! When Volstagg feasts, all may feast!" Technically he /did/ just declare 'kids eat free'. We'll see if anyone calls him on that. He settles back down, satisfied, pulling on his beers.

He does notice the crowd muttering, particularly someone in front of him. "No, no," he tries to correct them, "The Valiant. There's a lad." He looks around briefly. His eyes skip over Sera, though he does a double-take toward Angela, rubbing at his chin.


Aaron looks back at Angela and Sera. Angela stares back at him. She doesn't seem perturbed by this staring contest. Perhaps this is a mutual logging. She remains staring as Sera shows up and sits down with her ghost popcorn, at which point red shades man goes about bothering Volstagg Who Is Somehow Here by Chance Again.

"Yes," Angela whispers back to Sera. Angela is incapable of whispering without sounding a least a little bit angry. "His immensity haunts me."

An employee comes by. Angela glances up at him, down to her terrible beer and questionable meat tube, and then to Volstagg, who just performed a hypnotically wobbly double-take.

Angela promptly stands and reaches up to put her hair into a ponytail (the ribbon came from ''somewhere''). She gestures at the employee as he's moving on, and moves into the aisle before receiving an answer. She pauses briefly to touch Sera's shoulder as she passes.


Angela sets her jaw. A little anger is good to start with.

"Throw the meat tube at him if he becomes unruly," she says to Sera, and then Angela is off to stride down to the ring.


"It's like every story was true, but… his…" Sera is about to begin hushedly speak at length of the tales of Volstagg the Great Devourer's corpulence, his ardor at gobbbling down children, etcetera etcetera.

It's a compulsion, you see. She is a storyteller. But Angela and Sera had COME TO ACCORDS about their position on this.

She touches the leaving Angela back, on the hand, drifting fingertips that are warm and vibrant. It isn't real, but… It's a mild note. An extra effort.

"Go get 'em, Red. These people don't know what a /real/ strong woman can do." Then… To Aaron, becuase oh god Volstagg (she is equipped with MEAT TUBE to distract him, much like steaks with hounds. "Your glasses are /amazing/. Where'd you get them?"


Volstagg appears to take more interest in Sera when Angela says 'meat tube.'


Oh sweet fates, whose debt is she in for this treatment.

"That was not an /invitation/." She offers, trying to keep her gorge down.

Sera has a very active imagination.


"You heard him, folks!" Waldo says… and it is not immediately clear if these words have impact. Yet, can Volstagg the Vulture-eyed spot that several others - bearing children - are moving towards the popcorn sellers? And gesturing at his immensity? Perhaps he'll need the funds.

Angela gets up and starts moving down towards the ring, meanwhile. "Uh - h - hey," says the arena goon, who chases after her. "Hey, lady! Come on! Are -"

He gets grasped by the sleeve by one of the men manning the Channel 6 cameras. He leans in and says something to the goon. Something… inaudible.


The arena goon moves near the ring. Waldo gets near the ropes and glowers at him. They exchange words - brief words. He then looks back at the approaching Angela in her flame-haired, stern glory, then back down to the goon. The goon starts moving backstage all casual like.

Angela has to walk down steps clogged with random children and garbage, and is perhaps indulging in 'angry walking', so it takes long enough that someone ELSE emerges from backstage. Two people.

One of them is a woman with long silver-white hair cascading over her shoulders and hiding one eye. The other eye is completely devoid of human sympathy. She is wearing over THIS a purple satin cape that conceals her entire body, though what looks like real fur (if white) forms a collar over her shoulders. Angela will recognize her face if she looks for more than a few moments. It's That Woman.

Because the other one is a shirtless man who is significantly larger than Waldo. His shoulders are wider, his muscular arms agleam. He has some faded scars, perhaps from the War. He has a mask on too, a Mexican style one, dollar-bill-green with gold letters. An M on top of his head, a C cupping the orbit of his right eye, a W over the mouth.

"What - who is this ch- who are THESE challengers?!" declares the announcer. "I've never seen this guy before." Two seconds. "OR this gal!"

Waldo seems concerned. A microphone is made available for Angela's benefit if she wishes to say something; one is ALSO given to Let's Be Honest, It's Spiral, although she is not making immediate use of it.


Aaron gets the bottlecaps without treachery. He is surprised, accepting the partially contaminated material without complaint. "Thank you," he says, because his father raised him properly.

Aaron sets about wiping off the bottlecaps with a convenient napkin. The women behind him are talking, and he detects one is moving for the aisle. This is not immediately his concern, though he does review a passive sensor log for a flagged reading.

Aaron mulls on his sensor logs as he finishes wiping down the bottlecaps. He presses them together, seemingly pressing them into a single piece of material between his fingertips. This is relatively unobtrusive unless you watch him do so carefully and realize that the aluminum is puckering together like putty.

Sera asks Aaron a personal question. He turns his head back toward her. It's very slightly too far for a human head to turn, but you'd need to be a student of human anatomy to know for sure. "Oh," he says, with flat affect, "My father gave them to me."

Angela passes by as Aaron answers Sera. Aaron's head turns to track her as she moves toward the ring. A woman? Fighting in an arena battle? In a RESPECTABLE arena? Aaron's interest is immediately piqued. Perhaps she is a manager.

"A friend of yours?" Aaron asks of Sera, but is at least somewhat diverted by these new challengers in the ring.


Volstagg reaches back into his box, coming up with a handful of bacon and cheese fries and a single chicken drumstick, popcorn studded throughout. It's not worth examining how he gets such a variety in a single grab. He nods and winks at the children. Apparently he meant it. Volstagg is, truly, generous, though he is likely to be trying to barter his way out of this one, which may not go great.

"Say," he muses, the crowd popping as the two newcomers emerge. Volstagg leans forward into Aaron's personal space as he crams cheese and bacon into his mouth, missing his beard through sheer Asgardian luck. "Now there's another familiar face. This evening turns toward the singular."

Volstagg wags his beer bottles toward the glam woman. "Keep your eye on her, goodman. That one may be up to some dire machinations." He finishes the bottles, inspects them, and pauses for a moment before offering them to Aaron with a questioning eyebrow.


Angela isn't indulging in angry walking. Angry walking is indulging in her. All walks should hope to have a champion as artful and sublime as she.

She ignores all words of protest from any sort of person. She has made up her mind, and this isn't the first planet that has had trouble coming to grips with her being a competitor with only looks to go off of.

All this non-communication gives her time to study her soon-to-be opponent. She considers his strength level, based on what she knows of Earth people. She wants to make this fair. Waldo doesn't warrant that much finding, so Angela feels free to let her attention wander over to the other people approaching the ring.

Her angry walk suffers brief slowness as she puts the pieces together. It's


This recontextualizes the scenario. Angela takes some additional time to reach her destination, looking to the news crew setups while trying to avoid seeming pointed about it. Could it be—?!

When Angela reaches the ring, she waves off the microphone. Her actions will speak for her, each sentence punctuated by a chokeslam if possible. Her gaze lingers on Waldro briefly to establish presence and intent, and then she looks over to Spiral. Of course the recognizing will be both ways.

This time, at least, Sera is here. Less of a chance of teleporting tricks.


"Your father?" Sera wonders, trying aggressively not to see Volstagg smile at children, really, it's a thing. "That's very honorable of you. There's many a story of a man - a hero, really - who strikes out into the world bearing a token of their father, and a means to make a better world. Do you have any you like?" She wonders, an honest curiousity. "Ah, there was a song I heard, about a cowboy and his hat… Remember to tell someone that they'll 'ride a black tornado' before they touch your glasses. It's a good line." She reminices, before humming a few bars of a song.

"Ah, Angela? She's… Well, she's a very important person to me. And my girl Angela? Oh-ho-ho, just wait and see. She's worth a story just walking to the ring, forget even fighting."

There's new challengers, but right now there's a sublime sort of 'oh yeah, this gon b gud' as Sera only has eyes for the Aggressive Strut of a Certain Red-haired Badass.


Spiral's eyes widen when she sees Angela. She, too, seems surprised… even consternated momentarily. The man in the mask doesn't seem to care. She then says into the microphone, "Is this not an open challenge? Because we have a statement to make."

"What," says the announcer, flatly.

Meanwhile, there are now several popcorn dealers who are all emptied out and moving, like grim harbingers of justice, towards the actual concession standy locations where they can get reloaded. One pops up northeast of Sera, calling over her shoulder towards Volstagg the Easily Located, "THANKS MISTER!!" Then this child puts a handful of popcorn in its gap-toothed maw. It chews with its mouth open. Does it have a parent? (Yes. The parent is having a beer.)

Back in the ring, Spiral has handed the mic over to the masked man. Angela can tell what she murmured to him: 'the same line.'

The masked man speaks into the microphone. His voice is low and guttural. It makes the crowd sit up straight, because they have but rarely heard anything like it. There's also an electric hiss at the bass line somewhere, but be that as it may. "DE JAVIER. I do not want… your money."

"Then what do you want?" Waldo calls back to him. (He doesn't seem confused at least.) "Huh? A beat down?!"

"Huhuh. I want… your place… In the title picture."

Waldo does seem surprised at THIS one, and responds thus: "So that's ONE thing, what's the OTHER thing!"

"YOUR BONES," Mr. Mask bellows into his mic, before stomping to climb in the ring. Somehow, Spiral got hold of the microphone again, just in time for the announcer to say, with flat uncertainty, "In uh… In recognition of our challengers, this is gonna be a… Tag match! If our ladies can introduce yourselves -"

Spiral wriggles beneath her cloak and looks right at Angela. She, and perhaps Sera, can tell she's doing SOMETHING magical there, at least briefly. "Oh," she says, "My name isn't important. Here," she says as she lobs the microphone RIGHT at Angela with her visible hand, "YOU decide."

As Angela declares herself or doesn't, Spiral throws that concealing cloak aside — the crowd gasps— and Spiral seems tremendously pleased with herself. For while all six arms are present, four of them are hanging at an angle that looks slightly awkward, and all of them are stuck in thick opera-length gloves of purple rubber! (One of the ones which are now on her hips in an extremely disrespectful way is also coated in metal, but that kind of blends in.)

"That lady's got six arms!" shouts someone right near Aaron's ear. "No she don't," answers that person's long-suffering companion. "It's fake.""It's not fake!""Dames wrestling is always fake."

Spiral is otherwise in a classical singlet, which practically reeks of 'I summoned this with magic while other people were talking,' at least to Angela and Sera. She saunters her way to the side of the ring, giving Angela a smug look as the bell rings. (The masked man immediately throws himself in a spear at Waldo's gut.)


Aaron knows exactly how Volstagg did that grab. It can be explained with a sophisticated equation that is beyond the ken of most non-mathematicians, and as such Aaron will not share it with you, dear reader.

Volstagg leans into Aaron. It is uncomfortable and awkward. Aaron endures it with mechanical perfection, watching the arena floor. "Familiar?" he asks of Volstagg. "I'm new to the show. Who's the heel? Is this a ladies' circuit?"

Aaron accepts the empty bottles. He swaps the empties into the cardboard box, taking beers #2 and #3 in either hand.

Regardless of Volstagg's answer, Aaron pops his head back to pour down #2. He can take this time to look to Sera for commentary. She tells a few fragments of a tale. It's interesting in that it is not expected input. Children are talking, but the fleshy ones are of little concern when they cannot vote.

Aaron finishes #2 so he can use his throat to answer, putting the empty for #2 down under his seat. How will he juggle eight bottles in a container meant for six? He'll figure it out.

Aaron doesn't look back at Sera to answer. His face shows little emotion despite the normal-ish tone of his answer. "Pygmalion, for comedy," he says. "Metropolis, for tragedy."

Aaron begins examining Spiral intently as the audience tells him things that are probably flatly untrue. He turns down the audio on one side to keep the shouting from bothering him. Being a robot is awesome.


Angela is briefly overcome by a did-I-leave-the-oven-fire-burning feeling as she considers leaving Sera in the company of a mortal enemy. No, no, it's fine. Sera can resist telling a story for at least a few—

Oh no. Oh ''no.''

Angela is preempted again by the masked man growling his way into everyone's attention, including her own. Angela watches the exchange dispassionately, waiting to see how the pileup of contenders is unraveled by the local arbiter. The reward for her patience is TAG MATCH.

Angela flexes the fingers of her right hand. Spiral chucks the mic at her head; Angela's hand whips up to snatch it from the air. She glowers at Spiral for a long moment, then turns the mic over in her hand to inspect it. Unceremoniously, she drops it to the floor, because Angela does not know how expensive wireless hand mics are.

Angela climbs into the ring. She rolls up her blouse sleeves while the arbiter clears the area and someone gets ready to ring the bell.

"I would have engaged this man in a fair test of skill," she says. "You will require a different fairness."

The bell rings. Mr. Mask performs a mask attack, which is the obvious move, really. Angela widens her stance into something more aggressive, raising her hands as she advances. For all she knows, Spiral is some witch with only minor physical capabilities. The claw boy at Coney Island seemed to lack actual finesse. She wouldn't want to go full bore and pop this woman's head off. Besides, it had been a long time since Angela navigated a multi-limbed opponent with any kind of honesty.

Angela lunges in for a clasp, trying to mitigate Spiral's grip advantage by grabbing one of the other woman's arms and then using wrist control to force her body to twist away. From there, she can try to pin more arms back while keeping the rest at an awkward angle.

She could also get punched in the face, but hey, this is a learning experience.


"Black tornado!" Volstagg turns completely toward Sera even as he waves back to a child, jovial face alight. "Why, I recall a journey to the edges of Muspelheim, where a vicious storm of ash threatened to blot out all of the suns that grant life to the Realms. We had allies even among the Fire Demons, who viewed suns as the Great Fires that fed their infinite inferno. So, along the Boiled River, we…"

His own story is cut off by Mr. Mask bellowing. Volstagg remembers where he is, shifting back around. It's like features moving along an enormous mountain. He thinks Aaron's gathering of his garbage is uniquely comical. "Well," he says to him, "your jargon is unfamiliar, goodman, but given the rude business she attempted on your Island of the Coney, I daresay she is not here with charity and goodwill in mind."

He suddenly jolts. "Ah! But I have forgotten to introduce myself!" Technically he hasn't, he's shouted his own name at least a dozen times. He claps Aaron on the back. "Volstagg the Wise of the House of Volstagg, hero of Asgard! And you?"


Sera scooches away from Volstagg the Invader Of Personal Spaces as Volstagg gets up in Aaron's business to speak.

It's subtle, like the movement of popcorn into mouths that remain closed while chewing. "Who's the heel? Well, if we ignore for a moment the awful idea that a woman who is, let the record show " She was watching court procedurals too, come on, television. "that Angela there is at least in the top bracket of athletic people here. Easily. See? She /works out/."

She has to RESIST. She has to… NOT… SAY…

Nope, stories. "Huh! Fire Demons? Are you some sort of Methodist preacher then? Fire and brimstone?" She wonders sweetly. "Is Asgard in Iowa? Perhaps further inland?" She muses.

"Metropolis is… not one I've heard before, actually. You'll have to tell me about it sometime." Aaron gets, to his own stories, as Sera blithley goes on Doing What She Do, as Angela prepares to Tag Team in on the Do That She Do.

"I'm Sera. Of… Hell." She smiles pleasantly. She's been waiting for that one. "Hell Michegan."


Waldo gets hit with a flying masked man and seems to be staggered, perhaps not fraudulently. He hits the ropes, reeling as the masked man belly-flops onto the ring floor with a huge THUMP and rolls over. Waldo sees an opportunity, leaps - and now he too hits the ring. Masked Man kips up: Waldo doesn't, not as quickly.

"COME ON," the masked man shouts at him.

Spiral, meanwhile, is assailed swiftly as she climbs into the ring. Angela is able to close with blurring speed, gripping an arm and twisting it round - one of the gloved ones, simply by pot odds. The effort to move her torso DOES prevail, pressing Spiral against the turnbuckle and with nary a referee in sight! (The one referee, who of course was unremarkable until now, is looking at Waldo as the Masked Man throws a kick at him.)

The crowd is hollering, but it isn't clear in what way yet. Noise is increasing, though. In the ring Spiral turns her head to look at Angela, saying with a tightness in her voice, "Are you even FAMILIAR with professional wrestling, Redlets? I'll give you an introduction. No weapons - hgh!" The latter being, of course, discomfort as Angela gets hold of ANOTHER arm, rendering Spiral down to one free arm on that side. That arm snaps round to try and get around Angela's neck, which is a pretty feeble move if enough to at least block further cruel dominance.

Spiral is at least stronger than a standard Midgardian. "And you always have to keep an eye on the crowd," she says, and then demonstrates that strength by slapping all three left-side arms onto the ropes along with a leg. She pulls herself upwards and slightly to the side, twisting to - IN PRINCIPLE - hoist and slam Angela down like the masked man! Maybe they trained at the same place.

As for the kicking, Waldo has escaped more than a single kick, and is back on his feet again. And yet, he already seems to be weaving. Is that blood on his forehead??


Aaron can't help but be distracted by the flesh moving across Volstagg's body. It's unique in his examinations of humans, so it holds his attention longer as he tries to model it more accurately. He thinks through and parses Volstagg's dialogue. Coney Island. Okay. Maybe this strange promotion comes from Coney Island.

Sera talks up Angela. Maybe Sera's her sister or a friend. He also isn't sure what Volstagg is on about, but he's willing to roll with the weirdness. This is a guy who gave him two whole bottlecaps. That means something to Aaron.

Aaron's body makes an inhuman thud when Volstagg claps him on the back. It doesn't seem to bother Aaron at all. "I am Aaron Stack," he says. "I work for the Delmar Insurance Company as a claims adjuster." This is far less dramatic, if true on a surface level.


Angela is not punched in the face. Chaos does not reign and all is right upon the Earth. She continues to apply unkind pressure to Spiral's wrist while she begins locking arms down. Another one is easy, and then she has to try to hook her elbow through thereand then she can get leverage to bear her to the ground

"I wrestle to complement a varied skill set, not to pursue a profession," says Angela, who may not be from around here. Also Angela who is some kind of terrifying statue woman with no concern for Spiral's floppy neck grab from a poor leverage angle, and Angela who is doing some kind of origami witchcraft with their arms back there.

Then Spiral activates STAR POWER to wrench them both up and over, with Angela crashing first onto the mat. Angela is momentarily baffled by this, and goes down without struggle. It's a strange takedown—Angela doesn't seem hurt or even stunned, but she isn't capitalizing on this.

Once they're both on the mat, Angela pops her hip up to tilt Spiral's body in an advantageous way. With an admirable amount of athleticism, she twists her own body, maneuvering to roll on top of Spiral in an attempt to plant her knee into a delicate spot while getting a hold of one of the less fleshy-looking arms.

Angela has a theory. This theory involves testing robot-seeming parts to see if they pop off. Content warning.

"Who are you?" Angela hisses. "Don't you come with an expository monologue?"


Volstagg grins. "I am sure you bring glory to House Delmar," translating jobs and titles as he sees fit with little regard for reality.

To Sera: "Asgard is… difficult to explain. Perhaps when we are not here in the hall of other storytellers, it is a tale I can share." Still looking at Sera, an entire fried chicken breast goes into his mouth. Fortunately he turns away before pulling the bone out. He glances from it to Aaron, uncertain.

But then, watching the fight… Volstagg begins to grow confused. He doesn't stand, but does lean forward, reaching for another pair of beers while locking his eyes on Waldo. "Was that man not one of their greatest champions?" he asks to himself - though, to note, he doesn't ever talk quietly. "He seems to be flagging!" Volstagg transitions to a louder call: "Come now, Waldo de Javier! Gain his back! Grappling, man, grappling!"


Sera stares at Volstagg, uncomprehending, even as Angela battles and Nonsense Happens. Then, another pleasant smile. "Oh. I see."

She manages to exude the NOT THAT AWKWARD AT ALL and TOTALLY HONEST response to the Lore Check on Asgard.

"Oh, wow! Get them! Yeah!" Angela gets cheered on from the sidelines. "Take down their heroes! Spill their… egos on the floor! But not their blood! I BELIEVE THIS IS BLOODLESS COMBAT, ANGELA!"

Sera is having a problem. This is so awkward. She reminds herself not to conjure a guitar and start rocking out, though she wants to dearly. "Is your hand alright? You really gave those caps a squeeze."


Meanwhile, Aaron's superior robot brain gets a better image of Spiral. She seems to have machiney bits. The details are hazy. There's more fleshy bits than machiney ones. Maybe she's interracial.

Spiral herself is twisted round, the lock not breaking. Her free leg arches upwards scenically as she thrashes, not particularly able to grab advantage in this sort of a posture. Unfortunately the ref remains occupied, so this pin isn't being counted - in fact, where the hell would you count Spiral's shoulders as being, anyway? Probably the top pair. It's not that hard.

"Oh, I'm nobody important," Spiral answers her. "But if you insist…"

Meanwhile, Waldo looks towards Volstagg as the masked man circles around him. It's brief, but he /heard/ him and his inspiring words! In this moment the masked man's fist slams forwards — revealing several things to all involved!!

1. Aaron can see that this man, too, is in some part machine. In this particular case, the forearms and shoulders. That's probably why he slugged Waldo in the gut so hard that it might have gone unseen to casual observers, although Waldo's attempted 'not crumpling' gets a huge 'ohhhhhhh' from the room.
2. That blow was a dire one. Even as one of their champions it would seem that this contest is breaching the bounds of acceptability. Waldo looks towards Volstagg once more. Can he resist the call? Will he let this towheaded Midgardian be bludgeoned into sausage before his very eyes!?

"You see, all of this is just to build up an audience. Not MY plan - really would rather be elsewhere, anywhere, but I have my fun," Spiral explains to Angela. "But you know how it IS when you belong to someone, don't you now, Redlet? We're throwing a lot at the wall - seeing what sticks - are you enjoying the—" POP

Spiral's arm comes loose. One of them, one of the ones in the glove. Spiral's face flexes with a look that's hard to really narrow down - it's a bunch of things together. "/Rude/," she states, and then a lot of things happen at once:

Spiral, famously, has /six/ arms, even if Angela seems to have popped one loose. She can even shuck it loose, rubber sleeve and all - there's a foreshortened fleshy stump in there, she can feel it, if not see it just yet. Four of the other five snap up like pistons in a V6 engine, leading with stiff-held fingers for key points. Not 'pressure' points so much as 'right over the liver, at both kidneys, the solar plexus' - meanwhile the other grasps the still-nearby ropes and Spiral bucks like a landed fish, aiming to wrench herself free of Angela's pin.

"I can't believe it, the challenger's got de Javier on the ropes!!" says the announcer, who, presumably, cannot quite see the contender's current woes. Waldo throws himself forwards, the classical 'attempt to overbear the opponent by surprise,' which works enough that the masked man staggers nearer the center of the ring.

He also raises one of his hands up to put on the temple of Waldo, the OTHER forming a fist and pulling back…


Volstagg's entire bearing shifts. "That's a killing blow, and no mistake." Not to mention the out-of-character reaction to Volstagg's call. The Asgardian doesn't quite get the full level of showmanship involved in wrestling, but he understands the morality play, the exaggerated good vs. evil. Bad men act bad. That's how stories work. Volstagg stands, using one hand to shovel bacon into the bucket of cheese fries, forced to leave the chicken, popcorn, and beers behind. "Look now, Adjuster Stack. Time to bring propriety back to this sport!" Volstagg manfully turns aaaaaaaand starts making his way through the crowd again with several 'pardons' and 'excuse me's.


Volstagg's entire bearing shifts. "That's a killing blow, and no mistake." Not to mention the out-of-character reaction to Volstagg's call. The Asgardian doesn't quite get the full level of showmanship involved in wrestling, but he understands the morality play, the exaggerated good vs. evil. Bad men act bad. That's how stories work. Volstagg stands, using one hand to shovel bacon into the bucket of cheese fries, forced to leave the chicken, popcorn, and beers behind. "Look now, Adjuster Stack. Time to bring propriety back to this sport!" Volstagg manfully turns aaaaaaaand starts making his way through the crowd again with several 'pardons' and 'excuse me's.

Once Volstagg wins into the aisle he charges the ring at what could kindly be called a trot, lifting his bucket to his mouth, powering down starch, carb, fat, and protein with Asgardian skill at a speed no mortal man of Midgard could match. Then, rearing back, he throws the greasy slimy bucket at the masked man's head. "Enough of that!" shouts the man the crowd now knows as The Consumer, Upon Whose Dime Children Dine.

"You fight indecently! We are here for a contest, not an ignoble crushing!" Volstagg starts trying to figure out the ring, eventually springing up to the apron and pushing the ring ropes down with a squeal of protest to lever himself right over them. He bounces, testing the footing of the trampoline-like ring, allowing Angela and Spiral to their bout as he lashes out a gloved hand at Mask's fist, trying to grip and squeeze. The feathers on his helmet bob and sway heroically.


ROLL: Volstagg +rolls 1d20 for a result of: 16


"Yes, my hand is superior to these mere bottlecaps," Aaron says to Sera with easy confidence.

INTERRACIAL MIXING?? Aaron is deeply concerned about what's unfolding in front of him. Not only is this somewhat untoward female wrestling, but the robot parts in these fleshy ones makes him feel uneasy. And the violence! Those poor machine parts are being horribly taxed by all that icky meat.

Aaron picks up beer #3 as Angela gets into mortal peril. He pops his head back and pours it efficiently down his throat. His reactor reaches an acceptable level for combat operations as he finishes it. Aaron neatly puts down the bottle in the cardboard sleeve, then sets the cardboard box just so on the ground in front of him.

Aaron pops the bottlecap sandwich he's made into his mouth. The metal rattles down his throat, accompanied by the thrumming of an ammunition mill in his chest. A fresh round chambers into his right forearm.

"Please watch my bottles for me," Aaron says back to the unfortunate soul off to his right. "I would like them back. You can drink them if you'd like, but please keep the bottles here."

Volstagg moves down the aisle. Aaron doesn't bother with that. He stands up at his seat, bending his knees before jumping —

— exploding out of his seat with piston-driven force! The Machine Man sails through the air, flying up toward the arena's ceiling in a smooth arc. Aaron barely scrapes the top of the arena's ceiling before slamming his hands on the roof and launching himself back at the ring, rocketing down toward the canvas at lethal speed.

At the last moment, Aaron engages his boot jets, shredding through his shoes in a haze of ethyl alcohol to decelerate just enough to hammer the canvas with a thundering BOOM rather than punching through it entirely. He lands in a four point stance, hunched over as he lands in the middle of the ring. His red 'sunglasses' gleam as he runs tactical scans over the various enemy combatants.

"As a robot, you should be held to a higher standard than to beat up a quivering fleshsack on live television," he says. "They should at least be annoying first."

Aaron grins with menace. His teeth gleam with steel. "Why don't you fight somepone in your own engine class?"


Angela keeps the pressure on. She leans into Spiral's back with her knee, but her center of balance isn't directly over the other woman. Even without Angela's full weight, she is WEIRDLY HEAVY. Inhumanly so. That's a genuine clue, viewing audience.

Spiral keeps talking. Angela narrows her eyes as she keeps navigating the give and play she finds in Spiral's arm. Yes, she thinks. It feels mechanical here… and here… and if she pulls like this, then—


"We all sell ourselves before we know our worth," says Angela. She holds the arm above her head and then tosses it out of the ring. This looks bold and powerful but tactically it's in case the arm turns into a disembodied attack arm.

And then, a lot of things happen at once.

Spiral's other arms move with blurring speed. Four pointed finger-groupings jab ''hard'' into Angela's skin, confirming Spiral's metahumanity. As Angela deals with the first waves of system shock from having sudden jolts to her liver, kidneys, and solar plexus, she finds that it is more than abnormal strength. The placement—it was perfect. The reading of musculature during a dynamic pose, knowing right where resistance would be the most thin.

A warrior's art. Angela's vision swims and she lets the air rush out of her lungs in a reflexive gasp so that it lessens her chance of reflexively vomiting instead.

YET! Spiral cannot kick free! Angela's freakish weight density is the final say in wrestling advantages! It would take some massive counterweight to—

Volstagg does a cute lil hop in the ring and Angela and Spiral go popping into the air when he lands. Angela falls somewhere to the side on her back. She makes a gagging noise as she rolls into a crouch and then pops onto her feet. Her hands are immediately up in a defensive posture. She spares a moment to stare at Volstagg with a look of incomprehension.

But, there's no fighting while yet another robot comes robotting into the ring. Angela feels a brief cosmic loneliness as she realizes that Aaron was likely chugging alcohol for some kind of fuel regimen rather than whatever kinship she imagined.

No. She couldn't think this way anymore. Sera depended on her being stronger than that. Maybe… maybe robots also drink too much shitty beer in a desperate bid to get drunk.

Angela focuses her attention on Spiral. Her expression is hard.

"Did you have another plan here? You find yourself outnumbered again. Will you retreat once more?"

Angela wrings out her left hand, briefly dropping the fist to flatten her fingers out. Then it's back to punching preparedness. It's hard to tell if this was wringing her hand out or making a surreptitious gesture.


Oh Boy.

Fighting, stories, mead (well, cheap beer), and Angela wrestling some six-armed creature-woman from the outrealms. It was JUST LIKE THE STORIES!

Those stories, of course, being her stories. She penned many a tale, though they got a little samey without any Embellishments. 'That Time Angela Whupped X Thing' got pretty tired. She even had a jingle.

Oh Boy!!



Sera steps up slowly, relishing every moment of it, a halo of white mage-blades forming around her. She selects one longsword with a hand, testing the edge and smiling. "So it's a show then! A tale for everyone! Let it be on every set of lips, that—!"

She gasps, putting a hand over her mouth, and throwing the sword at the TV camera trained on the fight. "Right! No no!" The halo of swords disappear, as if they didn't exist, a twist of white magic drifting into the air. "Nevermind!" She sits back down, picking up her popcorn bucket again. "Continue!"


Angela is double-takes at the sword halo.

"You can't unsummon a sword halo!"

She waits a beat and then realizes the necessary correction.

"I mean, you can, but I'm being poetic about everyone having already seen!"


"Uh," says the neighbor of Aaron Stack, before "Holy—!!" as the MACHINE MAN makes his vault forwards! This evokes a lot of gasping and takes eyes off the impending murder. And as he flies…

The world makes way for Volstagg, the Consumer, Upon Whose Dime the Children Dime. It must! None could overcome this pull of profound GRAVITY. He bounds downwards, developing momentum as he moves, and it is momentum that matters, going into these final days.

The chicken bucket flies! The impending murder is averted as the masked man looks up, briefly startled. That last dash from Waldo de Javier must have taken all Waldo had, because Waldo is actually kind of half-leaning on him. Normally this might be taken as a mistake, but in this case it may be legitimate. The masked man's head turns to look towards the onrushing avalanche…

Volstagg vaults his way into the ring. BOOM!

The Machine Man lands. THOOM!

At this point Spiral rises upwards. When she's thrown into the air she immediately grasps the ring ropes and throws herself round to recline on those ropes as the ring itself finishes shaking, juddering violently as Spiral's hair falls into her face. She tosses it back with a snap of her neck and gives Angela a smile that shows all her teeth as her eyes widen, glossy with artificial cheer.

"Why not? That's the three most beautiful words in this stupid language. Do you know what they are?"

One of the turnbuckles makes a creaking sound.

"To be continued!" Spiral calls out.

The ring takes its cue. There is a tired sound from the framework of it and then it collapses. Yes, collapses all in one go; tilting of course towards the direction from whence came Volstagg the Girthy, but toppling with sufficient intensity to stagger everyone inside. Spiral herself rolls off and falls away and is not seen immediately again.

The masked man staggers as if he's on the deck of a ship, but this means he lets go of Waldo, who wobbles and is easily held up by any of the proximate do-gooder types. He needs doctoring but will survive - his career not even ended. And the masked man? He reaches up to rip off his mask.

Aaron's tactical scans complete at this point. Spiral was full of enigmatic machinery parts whose purpose was not immediately clear, but this man is much clearer: in particular, when his legs tighten up. His face has a plasticky look to it, and his eyes look like glass. The mask is left behind, and with a sudden lunge he LEAPS towards the backstage entrance hard enough that something back there slams. Something heavy-sounding.

There are several more distant slams (oh, those poor machines) but, blessedly, no screams. The ring finishes collapsing in a billow of recycled lumber and the chopped cork inside of the mats; the crowd, for their part, are screaming, people standing on their feet in delight…

And that's when Sera acts. Calling upon that sword and sending one into a Channel 6 camera, the camera itself loses out with a huge POP and a burst of sparks which makes the camera man vault off with a wilhelmian scream, even though he falls like eight feet. Wimp.

Somewhere in a place far away, a voice says with irritant tremulousness, "/who did that./ I'll have her guts for garters—"

But that's a problem for another day.


Aaron Stack would prefer to be drunk all the time. One day, perhaps Aaron and Angela will have a teary confrontation about their shared sorrows over some dangerous bottle of liquor and end up in a pool of regret. But that day, gentle reader, is not today.

Aaron locks onto the masked man. Even as the ring collapses, Aaron is trying to keep his eyes on that masked man. And then — a robot!!!

"Wait!" Aaron calls out to the masked man, or formerly masked man, but it is to no avail. Aaron drops through the ring, but starts fighting his way out as soon as he can get his footing. He starts running after the other machine man toward the backstage entrance, trying to catch up. It's not likely he'll make it, but Aaron will try.


Volstagg hops in the ring, apparently heedless of the deletrious effects his entrance had on Spiral and Angela, but hears the framework grinding as he bounces, testing the floor.

He hears the groan increase.

Volstagg the Voluminous frowns. "Well," he says, right before the ring gives out from under him. His arms windmill as he staggers back a couple steps and hits the ropes, which do not have a chance against his fantastically heavy frame. Sometimes he forgets Midgard is not made for men that weigh in the vicinity of a single actual tongue.

"Wa-ho!" he announces as he goes over, a great comedy act for the kids, legs way up in the air as he crashes thunderously to the floor. His helmet pops off and rolls a short distance away, revealing his bald spot yet again.


All languages are equally stupid to Angela's cosmic auto-translation abilities.

Angela manages to get a half-moment's glare in on Spiral before the ring collapses. Her first, uncharitable thought is 'I am trapped in Volstagg's orbit and he is slowly crushing everything in my life.' Still, she goes down with the collapse like everyone else, and like Aaron she's immediately fighting her way out.

Fighting for Angela means bodily ripping and shoving ring-bits out of the way. The audience is already in chaos, so a little physical bizarrity is now normal. Aaron gets out first and takes off toward the back.

Angela hesitates. Her attention flicks from the noises in the back, to the sword'd camera, to Sera. Her expression softens with realization.


Angela calls to Sera that she can't just unsummon a halo of magical swords, but, evidence shows that that is not, in fact, the case. If the child eating popcorn (WITH HIS MOUTH OPEN), the man holding Aaron's beers, or any of the remaining viewers around her TOTALLY saw her create a halo of swords, but the white-dressed woman with comic-book classic red and white striped vat of popcorn is settled down as if nothing happened.

Well, everything is chaos, anyway.

She lets the popcorn drop to the floor, where it spills!!! And then disappears, as is the purview of magic things. Then she steps to the stairs down, and moves to the floor. "Ah! So! Does this make it a victory? I can't tell. Did you win?"

She looks at Volstagg. "Did he win? Do you get more points for breaking the stadium?"


AARON hares off after that man, vaulting down the hallway into the back, past a locker room. There is a door swinging shut, an exit door, but there's another door opening.

"Ah! The winner of the hour!" says a man. THIS man! -> http://i.imgur.com/EhxBXFM.jpg

He reaches out to take Aaron's hand and squeeze it once. In the other hand he proffers a check. The check is written, grudgingly, for One Thousand US Dollars. "Can you hear 'em scream?" The hand-shaking hand goes up to clap Aaron on his terrible robot soldier. "I have a proposition for you…"

Which passes off-stage.

OUTSIDE AGAIN, or rather, IN THE RING, the announcer declares, "The winner - uh, the winner is - hold on, can we - Can we get him a microphone folks -"

One of the arena goons comes up to Volstagg with a microphone. It's on a cable. "Say your name," he says to Volstagg as he proffers it to the Asgardian.

AND SO IT IS that the winning is declared. The crowd goes completely insane. Even the child with the open mouth of popcorn stands up! Oh, what a waste of the food Volstagg has most generously provided. But it's all alright, right?


A FEW MINUTES LATER, as the crowd is being asked to get out, that man emerges, with Aaron, moving towards Angela and Volstagg, and perhaps by extension Sera. "Ah - Ladies - Mr…"

"I got no idea what these people were up to," the Wrestling Promoter says, with a certain thoughtful caution, "but I would be MUCH obliged if you could, uh, see fit to come by - we'll get you some ring side seats - on the house. Just in case we have any… Incidents… again."

"And as for YOU," the Promoter says, eyes widening as he looks at Volstagg. "I have a business proposition for you, and it's one I think you'd be well advised to consider seriously, considering what I've heard about a tab you've been running at the hot dog stand!"

"THANKS FOR THE HOT DOGS AND POPCORNS MISTER," says the Abominable Child, as its parent carries it towards the exits.


Aaron runs through the door! He's ready for some serious Robot Combat when he is abruptly waylaid by a sweet old man. He skids to a stop in confusion, allowing his hand to be shaken. And then MONEY appears.

Aaron mysteriously becomes cooperative.


When the winner gets to Volstagg, he has not actually succeeded in standing up yet, his legs somewhat tangled in ring rope and propped on ruin, keeping him from getting his proper footing. Someone tried to help - they nearly dislocated a shoulder.

So he just conducts the rest of the business on his back while a technician starts struggling the ropes off his legs. "I am Volstagg!" he bellows into the mic. "Volstagg the Staggeringly Perfect, the Lion of Asgard, the Bloody Epic!" It's unclear how many of his titles he'll manage to get out before the man removes the mic from his mouth.

Later, of course, Volstagg has been detangled and is on his feet, busily securing his helmet when That Promoter exits and makes his claim. Volstagg waves to the child before putting a hand on That Man's shoulder. "Well! I intended to bargian with a tale of my adventures past, but perhaps I will listen to your counter-offer! Let no man say that Volstagg the Vigorous is not open-minded!"


Angela's expression hardens again as she looks away. She abandons the wreckage of the ring to go inspect the camera. Like last time: this recording equipment. Her mind seeks some meaningful word in their previous encounter, based on what she remembers between Volstagg bellowing and claw boy growling and losing limbs.

"I think it remains to be seen," she murmurs to Sera. She doesn't seem worried about being heard. Behind her, Volstagg is crowned top local wrestleman and is offered a place from which to speak Asgardian propaganda into this sick world of robots and meat tubes.


Angela finishes digging Spiral's robo-arm out from the ring that once was. She stands up and holds it up to eye level, daring it to twitch. No such luck. Angela tucks it underneath her own arm as a promoter approaches. She looks over her shoulder, listens, and then casts a meaningful glance at Sera.

"This is acceptable," she says to the promoter. "We will discuss further terms in private."

Angela moves to leave. She lingers at Sera's side on the way out, waiting for her to join her.


"Angela." Sera sighs. "I feel a little cheated."

She has a Meat Tube, and holds it back to Angela. "Your meat-tube is cold." She offers, seeming a bit bashful at the whole situation. "So, you remember when you said we should keep things on the down-low? I got /really/ excited and worked up, and then remembered /after/ the swords came out. So I broke their primitive image-capturing device! To keep us on the, you know… Secret-ish."

She hangs her head, heaving a big sigh. "Oh, hey, that guy forgot his beverages when he ran out. I wonder how I'll immortalize this? C minor? Hmm…"


Angela takes the hotdog back. She considers it for a long, empty moment, and then bends down to place it on a pedestal-ish pile of debris.

Then, with evil robot arm in hand, she walks out of the arena with Sera.

"Next time, I'll get excited and worked up, and then perhaps neither of us will feel cheated," she says.

Angela pushes the door open and holds it for Sera.

"This feels like a C minor day. But—"

The door glides shut behind them.

"—let us go perform invasive magic on this arm I stole."

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