[15:59]...
[15:58]...
[15:57]...
"Damn it, you old cunt, don't you know I've left most of my shit back at the office! If only that old hag Bai Mei allowed me to take in the Subatomic Tool-Box, I'd have dismantled and disposed of this piece of crap 20 picoseconds ago! May that menopause of a woman choke on rice!"
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Achoo!
"Sniff, sniff, who the fuck is badmouthing me behind their backs– oh wait, must be Scaramond. Heh, you little shit, wait until you come back– I still haven't forgotten how you screwed my teapot into doing the 'Macarena' all day long!"
Grumbling, Bai Mei tucked in her long, white silky-smooth hair, picking up the papers that fell from Mount Paperest, trying to reorganise them back into the glorious pile they were. "I hope the kid's safe– wherever the old codger Aphuno comes in here with his ridiculous requests, they always devolve into shitshows that can destroy an entire sector. But oh well, no need to worry:
With old Knoxis at hand, they're as good as safe..."
Tucking in another tuft of hair, she stood up with a pile of papers, ears turning redder than an overripe tomato...
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[10:20]...
[10:10]...
[10:00]...
"Damn it, damn it, damn it! I don't have enough time to perfectly disarm the bomb! The tools required are kept back in Throway Transportations, and the most advanced equipment here is a steel-tipped hand-screw! You'd need at least something on the level of Tungstonium to drill a hole through the Neodymium-Kroftsky Quantum Mesh! I mean, how did someone here even manage to calculate the exact lattice framework needed to build the atomic bonding needed to build it!? For fucks sake, where am I–"
Phew!
Barely dodging another lightning pulse from the heavily unstable core, Scaramond turned his head, cursing, hoping that no one was braised into cooked pork. Damn it, if there was only some way to contain the burgeoning energy from escaping–
That's when he saw it:
A stray lightning bolt being deflected by the dark walls of the chamber
Wait, if the walls can reflect the emissions, then maybe...
A bold idea sprouted in the back of his mind, something he couldn't help but act on upon...
"Hey you lot, stop and help me!"
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Thwomp!
Smashing another of those monsters' heads, Thurfyn lifted his mace, breathing heavily. "Hah, take that, you old git– that was 35!"
"So what? I'm on my fiftieth now..."
Spitting another globule of blood, Thurfyn cycled his gaze upon the lean man, rapidly shooting arrows faster than the eyes can see. "Damn it, just cause you have those flimsy fingers, you can shoot faster than a Lonkey spitting at a Drifting Fline! Why, if only my fingers weren't pudgy..."
Curling his fat fingers, Thurfyn bemoaned his fate of having sausage fingers. Just cause Wilfred has stick fingers, all the ladies swoon towards him! Rumour has it, a count has even taken him in as her paramour– lucky bastard! Why, with my big size, I can satisfy her all night, unlike the limp–
"Hey, you lot over there, come and help me! Especially you, stick-fingered man– you're our only hope of saving the world!"
What on Aesold are you talking about...?
Wut?
Both looked at each other, before turning their gazes back at the crazed man before them:
"I ain't gay..."
"He's famous for squealing higher than a Piggo..."
What the fuck dude! This's the last time I'm helping you get a date!