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[Good evening chelonauts, tonight you are being treated to the fine sight of one (1) bruised and somewhat bloody Ant-Man looking far more annoyed than he has looked his entire stay on this turtle. There are scrapes and cuts all over his face and his mouth is a thin line that is barely visible until he opens it to speak.]
Heads up: if any of you guys see a rooster that looks like it's been fused with a telephone box, do me a huge favor and run, not walk, in the opposite direction if you want to wake up tomorrow with still ten fingers. [He hasn't lost any of his own yet but it's only a matter of time.] I don't think there's another one of these Frankenchickens out there but just in case.
[There's long-suffering sigh and he's about to say more when he immediately gets drowned out by the rooster rattling around in its makeshift cage and crowing its little cybernetic head off. At the rate things are going, that cage ain't gonna hold it much longer and then fingers are actually going to be lost.
Scott turns and attempts to shush the rooster several times, but since the rooster listens to him about as well as everyone else does (which is to say not at all), he finally gives up and just ignores the damn thing, pinching his nose in exasperation.]
Anyone have any extra bandages? And maybe a flamethrower? You'll get paid back in chicken patties.
Heads up: if any of you guys see a rooster that looks like it's been fused with a telephone box, do me a huge favor and run, not walk, in the opposite direction if you want to wake up tomorrow with still ten fingers. [He hasn't lost any of his own yet but it's only a matter of time.] I don't think there's another one of these Frankenchickens out there but just in case.
[There's long-suffering sigh and he's about to say more when he immediately gets drowned out by the rooster rattling around in its makeshift cage and crowing its little cybernetic head off. At the rate things are going, that cage ain't gonna hold it much longer and then fingers are actually going to be lost.
Scott turns and attempts to shush the rooster several times, but since the rooster listens to him about as well as everyone else does (which is to say not at all), he finally gives up and just ignores the damn thing, pinching his nose in exasperation.]
Anyone have any extra bandages? And maybe a flamethrower? You'll get paid back in chicken patties.
video; threadjack
video; threadjacking the threadjack
Stop antagonizing everyone. Poyo can defend himself.
video; so i herd you lyke threadjacks
Where are you?
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Also, [he stands, showing off a very simple, understated kedan-style outfit] I got real clothes.
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Real nice. You're like one of your people now. [Yes, that was racist.]
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Should've seen that one coming. [Tony rolls his eyes.] Earth sector, you dick.
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I'll grab Poyo from the bozo and meet you there.
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Here. [And Tony attaches the location of the cafe he's in!]
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[Normally Colby would flash his eye at it and let his brain GPS take him there, but as he hasn't mapped out Sinbrilee yet, he's going to do it the old fashioned way and use landmarks.] See you soon, partner.
[And sure enough, eventually here comes Colby, Poyo under his arm like old times.] Yo! My two favorite partners, stuck with me on a turtle.
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John. [He gets up, thinking better than to try to pet Poyo.] I hope he didn't attack anybody else while you went and got him?
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Poyo looks almost insulted at that.] Dude, Poyo totally let that sap catch him on purpose. Do you really think that little cage was going to stop him?
He's cool.
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[Don't wanna piss off the murder bird. Like, ever.]
At least he's with us now, right? We don't need any more civilians getting between him and, uh, whatever his objective is.
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Puts Poyo on the table and goes to order a drink and a cake. Putting the cake in front of the cybernetic rooster, he sits down. You didn't want anything, did you Ton?] I can only imagine that his objective was the same as ours--figure out where the fuck we were. It's not like he could exactly ask anyone.
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It's a chicken. Gallus gallus domesticus. Top speed: 9 mph. I've got this one.
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Good to know. How fast are we talking? And don't give it to me in Mach, that's a ratio. Straight velocity please.
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Government secret. [The answer is at least mach 5.]
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[Quiet snort.] Lame. That means you don't know.
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No, that means I'm a federal agent and I'm not going to give out classified information. [He was fucking his boss who was there when they put it all in. He knows more than he ever wants to.]
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OK, Mr. Federal Agent. Don't you think the last thing this turtle needs is your little nuclear cock? He's gotta go. Voted off the turtle.
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And how exactly do you expect me to send him back? If I had that kind of information, I wouldn't still be here!
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