Check-In
A “Who Are We Cooking Tonight?” Riff
In the cloudless, pristine
azure sky above
The staff of Delta Cancun walked to the end of the gangway and positioned themselves. This was tourist season, and certain things were expected, like bright smiles and "Welcome," spoken in english but heavily accented. Guide books were ready, directions were rehearsed, and then the crew chief opened the door to the plane.
"YOU GOTTA FIGHT...FOR YOUR RIGHT...TO PAAAAAARTAAAAY!!"
Charging out of the aircraft amidst a barrage of tasteless american rap-n-roll music was a collection of creatures such as the crew had never seen. There were three tigers and a cheetah, all yapping excitedly. Next came a collection of humanoids, including a sabertooth Thunderan, a gray-skinned merman, a golden cat-like creature with blue pants and no shoes, and a huge green dog-like thing cradling a bright blue poodle in his arms. Lastly came a handful of humans, including a robed sorceress, a winged youth with purple hair, an obviously-deranged teenager, and a latino man wearing a bright red smoking jacket and pink bunny-slippers.
"What happened here?" the crew chief asked as the head stewardess staggered out of the plane, her hair in disarray.
"Charter flight," she mumbled. "Location shoot for TCATGRrrrr..." and then she lost consciousness.
In the terminal, the club members headed for baggage claim, and retrieved a variety of computer hardware, clothes, edged weapons, and enough firearms to give Osama Bin Laden a wet dream. Thus equipped, they exited the terminal and began ranging up and down the pick-up lane, scaring the hell out of natives and tourists alike.
"Do you see her?!" Thunderwolf yelled.
"No!" RD called back. "No, wait! There she is!"
A long, dusty gray bus pulled up in the drive, and was greeted with a chorus of raucus cheers. The members of TCATGR grabbed their bags and hauled them over to the vehicle, then stood by while the driver, their hostess, secured the bus and came outside to greet them.
"SPARK! SPARK! SPARK!" they cheered. The azteca smiled broadly and waved to them all.
"Hello, hello
everyone! Welcome to my country!" she called back, and was drowned out by
more cheers. When the racket subsided, she said, "You all know we are here
to finish my story, 'Who Are We Cooking Tonight?', but that is not beginning
until Monday, and today is Friday. So we can all party hearty all weekend in
"YAAAAAAY!!!" they cried, and at that point, there was no holding them back. Fianna, Chanur and Thunderwolf loaded everyone's bags into the storage compartments, and then everyone piled in for the ride to the hotel.
********
"What do you mean, I have no reservation?"
"I-I-I am truly sorry, senior Fianna, but your name is not in the register, and I have no more rooms, for the beach is very--" the young counter girl stammered.
The TCATGR crew had arrived safely at the hotel, and most had been through the check-in process already. Fianna looked around and spotted RD and Axelle in swim suits, headed out the sliding doors to the patio and pool. Thunderwolf and Shark were already there, telling the lifeguard what he could do with his no-alchohol policy. Spark was across the lobby, talking to an officious-looking soul in a black suit, pointing out the window.
The caninoid turned back to the terrified girl and leaned over the counter. At nearly seven feet tall and three feet across at the shoulder, Fianna filled half the reception counter. He smiled toothily at the girl and rumbled, . "I'd like to speak to the manager, please." The young woman swallowed hard, nodded, and bolted through the back door into the offices beyond.
Fianna picked his spouse up from the counter and strolled over to the loungers, taking a seat and putting the missus into the one on his right. She promptly curled up into a fluffy blue ball and dozed off, while he began rifling through the copies of "Mira" and "People en Espanol" on the end table.
Meanwhile, Spark's conversation was becoming heated. "What do you mean, the beach is reserved?! I reserved it!" she yelled.
"Senorita, please understand, this is the decision which was made, and there is no reversing it now," he said.
"I demand to know, what was it so important that my reservation for next week was cancelled?!"
"MTV Spring Break, Cancun," the manager replied, then pulled aside the curtain. On the beach by the hotel, thousands of sexy coeds cavorted in skimpy swimwear while Enrique Iglesias crooned from the cat-walk-like stage. The entire area was surrounded by high fences, crowned with barbed wire, to prevent the pudgy, pasty, ugly and otherwise less fortunate from impugning on the beautiful people in the limelight.
"Oh my god," Spark gasped. "Is that Carson Daley?"
"Yes it is," the manager said, then leered at the Ferocious Female. "And I could arrange for you to meet him, if--" He leaned over and whispered in Spark's ear. The Azteca's eyes widened and her face flushed.
Across the room Fianna, without looking from his magazine, scooped up his poodle from the seat on his right and transferred her, still sleeping, to the seat on his left. A split second later, the right seat was splattered by a thick gout of the manager's blood.
********
Meanwhile, out at the pool, RD Rivero, Axelle, Tatiana, Thunderwolf, Shark and Purrsia stood in the hot sun, sweating in their bathing suits, while Thundera Tiger addressed the group.
"Okay people, I've organized a schedule for us to insure maximum fun in the time alotted to us," TT announced. "We get thirty minutes in the pool, then it's inside to change for cocktails. Check with me in the lounge for dinner plans. Any questions?"
RD raised his hand. "Do you think you should help Tygra? He seems, um, distressed."
TT looked over her shoulder. Her hunk of man-cat was cowering in the kiddie pool while three-year-old tourist children splashed water on him.
"No! Please! I don't wanna die!" he wailed.
TT turned back to the group. "No thanks, RD, Zhie says it's part of his therapy. So thanks for the 'concern', but I guess you can just enjoy the show while you swim. Anybody else?"
Purrsia raised her hand. "Can we take our balloon doubles into the pool?"
"No," TT replied. "According to my Ten-Point Checklist for Pool-time Fun, inflatable toys promote gratuitous splashing, and nobody likes that. Anybody el--"
TT was cut off as the patio doors burst open and Ayanna raced through them, her balloon double gripped by the throat in her mouth. "EEEEEEEEEE!!!" the cheetah squealed, shooting out over the pool and splashing into the water. She paddled furiously, laughing and snorting around her mouthful of vinyl.
"Oh, yeah, she's not having any fun at all," Purrsia said sarcastically. "Well, checklist or no checklist, I'm taking my toy!" She reached into her pool bag and took out a small package with a string attached. She pulled the cord, and the package inflated rapidly into a life-size blow-up doll of Lion-O, complete in every detail except the uniform, which was missing, and the--
"Stop!" Tatiana yelled as Purrsia ran past her for the water. "You'll electrocute yourself!"
"But what a way to go! WOOOHOO!" the lioness howled and threw herself into the pool. A second later, she was astride the doll's buttocks as it lay face-down in the water, slowly puttering around the pool under it's own power. Tatiana slapped herself in the forehead and sighed.
********
Meanwhile, Chanur had wandered off to explore a little on the beach. He reached the entrance to the MTV compound, drawn by the flashing lights, loud music, and many, many scantily-clad human women jumping up and down on the sand. Never hurts to look, he reassured himself, trying not to think of Peachyra's face if she saw him there, or more particularly, the things Peachyra would do to him if she saw him there.
He ran into some trouble at the gate, competeing for entrance with fashion models and teenage men only slightly less hormonal than himself. By the time he reached the entrance, the guards had spotted him, plucked him out of the crowd and escorted him inside.
"Hey, does this mean I'm one of the beautiful people?" the Hani asked.
"Naw, we just need more ethnic kids," the guard said. "Try to talk like you're in a street gang, will ya?" Then they shoved him into the crowd.
The music was pumping, the crowd was jumping, and the superb reflexes that were part of Chanur's Hani genetics made him an exquisite dancer. In no time, the crowd pulled back into an encompassing circle, cheering him on as he moved with fluid grace through all the standard moves, plus a few of his own, concluding on the last beat of the song with an incredible standing double backflip.
"Hey, who's that stirring up the fuss over there? Let's get him up here, what do you say guys?" Chanur had no time to object as he was grabbed by a dozen sets of hands and passed above the audience towards the stage, finally deposited in front of the world's most unlikely sex object, Carson Daley.
"Uh, hi Carson," Chanur stammered, then mentally kicked himself for the lame introduction.
"Hi yourself, pal. Tell us your name," the TRL host asked.
"Nakur Na Chanur," he said carefully into the microphone.
"Well, Nakur, I'm glad you could make it today, and when you see who's eye you caught with your smart moves, I bet you'll be happy too! Come on out, mystery guest!”
The speakers blared with latin-style music, a tune Chanur recognized instantly from it’s endless rotation on American radio. He looked past Carson to the stage entrance and gasped as Shakira came through the door and approached them, waving and smiling at the cheering crowd.
“Uh, buh, huh?” the Hani stammered.
“That’s right, Nakur, you lucky dog, er, cat. Hey, just what the hell are you anyway?” Before Chanur could reply, Carson clapped him on the back and said, “Not that it matters, since you won our dance competition! And your prize is a date with Shakira!” Daley stepped back out of the way as the golden-tressed Colombian came up to the Hani , wrapped her arms around his neck, kicked her right ankle back and smiled at the audience.
“Uh, look, I know you’re not aware of this, but I’m kind of seeing somebody right now, and--” Chanur sais nervously.
In response, Shakira pulled the Hani’s head close to her face and whispered, “Do not embarrass me on American television, or I will cut out your heart and mail it home to your mother.” Then she kissed him hard on the lips, turned them both slightly and, out of camera view, kneed Chanur in the nuts. While he was doubled over, clutching himself and straining to draw a single breath, Shakira took him by the arm and dragged him from the stage, smiling and waving pleasantly at the adoring throng.
“Don’t mind Nakur, folks, I’m sure kissing Shakira has that effect on most men,” Carson said, which evoked even more mindless cheering from the collection of beach bunnies.
********
At just that moment, Spark was distracted from butchering the hotel manager by a piercing scream from the hotel lounge. She dropped her victim’s entrails on the floor and rushed to the door, dashing past Fianna, who was obliviously snoring in his chair, a copy of Hugo’s “Learn Latin American Spanish in Three Months” lying open to the page on “tener” in his lap.
Inside the lounge, Peachyra was staring in stark horror at the bar’s tv screen. Spark ran to her side, and saw nothing but skinny anglo women jumping around. “I agree, it is terrible,” Spark said. “Their men must feed them nothing!”
“I. Will. Kill. Him,” Peachyra growled, then quickly related the scene to Spark. “You should have seen the look on his face when she kissed him, like he couldn’t breathe! She couldn’t keep her hands off him, and he couldn’t keep his hands off HIMSELF!! Oh, yeah, when I get ahold of him, there’s gonna be Hani-hide toilet seat covers on every can in our fort!”
Spark glared at the screen, then said to her friend, “We will find them together, Peachy. Then you take care of Chanur, but for me, I will see how easily la mujer de plastico cuts!“
*********
Meanwhile, back at the pool, RD Rivero was counting his toes. When he was sure all eleven were accounted for, he looked over the side of his rubber pool float and yelled, “Shark, try that one more time, and it’s no ice cream for you!”
The merman, now fully-transformed into a large, deadly ocean predator, cruised on his side below the raft and winked at the Dreaded Master of All Evil. The commotion caught the attention of the tourists in the pool, who then caught sight of Shark, then fled the pool en masse, trampling each other and squealing like runaway pigs. Only the club members made no effort to escape the water, although RD, Ayanna and Purrsia were all nearly swamped in choppy water produced by the exodus.
Spark and Peachyra stormed out onto the deck. “Where is Chanur, has anyone seen him?” They were met with shaken heads and confused expressions, then everyone climbed out of the pool to see whn she finished, Peachyra was incensed. “MEN! They’re all...all...,” Peachyra stammered.
“Evil?” RD asked.
“Predators?” Shark suggested.
“Tom cats?” Thunderwolf offered.
“JERKS!!” she yelled, then stormed out of the patio and down the stairs towards the beach, Spark in tow.
“What do we do now?” Ayanna asked.
“They’re big kids, they’ll take care of it,” TT asserted sagely. “Besides, according to my Ten-Point Checklist for Meddling in Other People’s Rocky Affairs, there is, hey, where’s everybody going? I‘m not even to number 1 yet!” She followed the other authors into the hotel, where everyone stepped lightly past the snoring caninoid an his bright blue wife, and went to their rooms to dress for dinner.
********
Meanwhile, Spark and Peachyra finished their descent to the beach and battled their way to the front of the entrance line. Once there, they ran into the steely gaze of a huge security guard, glaring at them from behind thick black sunglasses.
“Sorry ladies, no admittance,” he rumbled,
“We have to get in there!” Peachyra pleaded.
“No admittance,” the guard said, his tone inarguable. “We got too many white kids and latinos already. If you’re not in some sort of ethnic group, you can’t come in.”
Peachyra blanched, her mind racing, trying to think of some way to convince the guard to stand aside. Then she felt a sharp pain in her tush, making her jump and yelp with suprise. She turned to see Spark give her an exaggerated wink and blow her a kiss.
“Oh, wait a minute, you two are lesbians?” the guard asked. Spark nodded rapidly, putting her arm around Peachyra’s waist. The dumbstruck avatar was speechless. “Hell, that changes everything. You can go on in, just make sure you only dance with each other.”
“Muchos gracias,” Spark chirped, and dragged Peachyra past the guard and into the dancing throng. At last, Peachyra recovered from her shock.
“You just goosed me!” she snapped.
“Stop complaining, it got us in, did it not?” Spark hissed. “Now grab my butt and do a conga to the stage, so we can get to Carson Daley!”
********
Meanwhile, in the back of Shakira’s limosouine, the singer laughed at her unwilling guest’s frantic struggles against the handcuffs that bound him to the car doors. “It is of no use, you little fool,” she said brightly. “You belong to me now, and you had best get used to it.”
“KISS MY ASS!” Chanur roared, making the limo shake on the road with the force of his voice. “I don’t know why I can’t break these stupid little chains, but when I get loose, I’m going to smear you all over this interior!”
Shakira laughed again. “You are amusing. I normally kill after I mate, but I think I will let you live for a while. In the meantime, smile for the camera!” she said, and nodded out the window. Chanur looked out and saw a small army of fans thronged around a festive nightclub. He glared back at Shakira, and found her holding a tiny derringer pistol in her lap, aimed at his groin.
“I told you to smile,” she said. Chanur snarled at her. “Close enough. You will have a front seat at our intimate little show, and then we will go to your hotel to eat dinner, and then back to your room. Remember, my bodyguard will have you covered every moment. Attempt to escape, and he will kill you, and I will tell everyone you were an obsessed fan who assaulted me. Understand?”
The car stopped outside the club and Shakira climbed out and waved to her fans. The driver of the car got out, leaned in and put a chrome colt revolver under the Hani’s chin, undid one set of cuffs, and handed Chanur the key for the other set. He escorted the Hani out of the car and walked him into the nightclub, his gun concealed between them, poking Chanur in the ribs. He led Chanur into a seat in the front row, then took the seat beside him, still holding the gun as the lights went down and the music started.
********
Meanwhile, Carson Daley oozed lightly along the backstage hallway to his dressing room, nodding to fellow, if less privileged, MTV schleps. He reached his door, paused until no one was near, then went inside. Moments after the door closed, Peachyra and Spark stood beside it, tensed, ready to make their move.
“One,” the avatar said.
“Two,” the Aztec continued.
“THREE!” they yelled, and kicked the door in, storming inside, then stopping in stunned disbelief.
The room was brighty lit by overhead florescent bulbs. The stark white tile floor was covered in hundreds of rippling cables and communication wires, beginning at three computer terminals equally spaced around the room. The cables converged onto a table at the room’s center, and fed into the body of Carson Daley, lying there motionless.
Three men were seated at the terminals, and turned at the noise of the intrusion. The first was thin to the point of gaunt, his complexion untouched by natural light. His corner was meticulously spotless and unadorned, his clothes Buddy Holly Nerd Chic without the Chic. Or the Buddy Holly, for that matter.
Beside him was a shockingly short man, scrawny, with a wild shock of bright carrot red hair. His corner was swathed with posters for ridiculously violent rock bands and nearly naked swimsuit models. At the women’s intrusion, he spun around in his chair, dropping a copy of Maxim onto the floor with a damp thud, and glared at them with an almost mindless rage seething in his eyes.
Next to him was what appeared to be a moutain of M+M wrappers. The chair creaked ominously as the ponderous bulk swung slowly on it’s axis until a pair of beady eyes peered out at the women. The mass shifted, revealing past it a corner that looked like a battlefield between chocolate and choco-holic, with no clear victor in sight.
They looked the women up and down for a moment, paying particular attention to Peachyra’s belly dancer costume. Finally, the tall one turned to the others and said, “Did either of you order a stripper? The company’s not gonna cover that, you know.”
“Carson Daley is a robot?!” Peachyra exclaimed, to suprised to note the question.
“Well, duh,” the red-head sneered. “And it’s not Carson Daley, either, it’s Max Headroom version 22.53.21, but MTV wouldn’t let us use that. They said it would reveal their precious little secret. But someday, the truth is gonna come out, and they will stand revealed for all their LIES and I, yes I, will finally get the CREDIT I deserve!!”
“Cool it, Irving, we’re going to play this by the book,” the tall one said, automatically assuming the mantel of Captain. “Now can you ladies tell me what you’re doing here? Or do I just call security?”
“We shall make the demands and threats here, Nerdy One!” Spark roared, storming past Peachyra and whipping out her dagger. “If you are Carson Daley then you know where Chanur is! Talk, or juices will gush!”
The mound of candy wrappers chortled obscenely and wheezed out, “She said, ’juices’, huh-huh, huh-huh.”
Peachyra finally came to her senses, grabbing hold of reality with two mental fists and refusing to let go, no matter how hard it tried to throw her. She crossed the room to the littlest nerd, grabbed his Jolt Cola off the desk, spun the lid off and held it over the console.
“What are you doing, you fucking psycho?!” Red wailed.
“I thought this would get your attention,” Peachyra snarled.
“Of course, everything is backed up in on-line data storage,” the leader said.
“Maybe, but I got a hunch neither of you would want to loan your hardware to this little weasel if he suddenly wound up off-line?” Peachyra said. Both the tall one and the mound looked away, while the red-head scraped and toadied at Peachyra’s foot, begging her not to hurt “LuLuBelle”.
“Now, miss, I’m sure we can deal with this in a rational manner. There are procedures, rules to be followed, rules that bring order and fair play to the universe--” the tall one said hastily.
“Tell me where Chanur went, and where he is going, or you get baby-sitting duty tonight,” Peachyra said, her eyes narrowed to slits. Her hand shook, and a tiny drop of liquid hovered over the keyboard.
“Alright, alright,” the tall one said. “They went to a night club for a private show by Shakira for her date. I don’t know the name of the club,” he waved his hands frantically as Peachyra tilted the bottle further. “Honest I don’t! But they’re coming back to the hotel afterward for dinner, and then, well, whatever may follow, ya know?”
Peachyra’s face contorted with rage, and for a moment, nobody moved or spoke. Then the avatar threw the soda on the floor and stormed out of the room, Spark backing out after and closing the door.
“What a couple of bitches,” the candy wrapper mountain whined.
“Yeah, Whiddah,” the red head grumbled as he got back onto his chair, wiping his eyes with his hands. “They’re lucky they didn’t really piss me off, or they’d have suffered at the hands of the Undead Hero!”
“Cool it, John, and hurry up with those downloads, Carson‘s gotta be back out there in ten minutes,” the tall one said .
“Fuck you, Lightfoot,” the red-head grumbled under his breath.
********
As Peachyra and Spark headed for the hotel’s rear entrance, Chanur was being led to his seat in the private wing of the lounge by the hotel maitre de’. He was flanked by bodyguards whose purpose was to injure his body, rather than defend it, if he should try to escape. Cameras were already set up, and Shakira was having a final coat of yellow paint applied to her hair before taping started. Suddenly overborne by a sense of futility, the Hani took his seat without a word while the guards handcuffed him to the chair.
As light measurements were being taken, Chanur looked towards the entry door for the main lounge, and was shocked to meet eyes with RD Rivero. The evildoer was clad in a black dinner jacket over his robe and bunny slippers, watching the proceedings with mild interest. Frantically, Chanur rattled his cuffs and made pleading expressions towards his disrespected dictator.
RD glanced at the cuffs, took note of the Hani’s discomfort, smiled very broadly and closed the lounge door. Suddenly, the subordinates of the crew disappeared, and a voice from behind the Hani said, “Okay, we roll tape on three. One. Two...”
********
Meanwhile, in the kitchen adjoining both lounges, a pair of waiters were swooning over their luck in the pantry as they hastily took off their clothes for a pair of drunken female guests who felt like slumming it a little. A few moments and some severe concussions later, Peachyra and Spark emerged from the pantry clad in waiter outfits. Nobody in the kitchen challenged them as they scooped up trays with water and mixed drinks, checked the clock and started towards the door adjoining on the private lounge.
They were at the door, ready to step through, when Peachyra stopped short, bringing Spark to a halt with a wave of her hand.
“Listen,” she whispered.
********
“Look, you bleach-blonde Brazil nut, how many times have I got to tell you?!” Chanur raged. “I’m only interested in Peachyra! I did not ask for this date, I do not want you in ANY capacity, and all the handcuffs and guns and threats in the WORLD are not going to change that!! IS ANY OF THIS GETTING THROUGH TO YOU, YOU SILLY BIMBO?!”
Behind Chanur, the director said, “Is he finished yet? Good. Three.”
“Chanur, my kitty, do not be so absurd,” Shakira purred, getting up and sashaying around the table to the glaring Hani. “I will make you forget all about your silly farm girl, and I will bind you to my will forever more.”
“I am Nakur Na Chanur, of House Chanur, and I am no one’s slave,” the Hani growled. “Except Chris, and that doesn’t concern you. So how the hell do you think you’re going to pull that off.”
In response, Shakira leaned over and whispered a few sentences, and Chanur’s eyes widened. Then she whispered a few more, and his jaw dropped. Then she said a few more things, and the Hani gaped at her.
“But, but that’s not physically possible...” he stammered.
“We will discuss the physics later in your room,” Shakira said. “Our drinks are coming now.”
Then all hell broke loose, as the lush plants lining the walls writhed out into the middle of the room, seizing cameramen and bodyguards alike in an unbreakable vegetable grip. Then Peachyra was at Chanur’s side, commanding the wooden from of the chair to swell and pop his handcuffs free. The avatar threw her arms around the Hani’s neck and peppered him with kisses.
“Uh, saved!” Chanur said in suprise.
“What are you doing, you silly wench?!” Shakira screeched. “Get back in the kitchen before I--”
“LA MUJER DE PLASTICO!!”
Shakira whirled to find a second waitress closing in on her, glaring at her. The Aztec smiled sinisterly.
“I will see if you have juices like normal people, plastico,” Spark snarled, brandishing her wicked obsidian dagger.
“Foolish native girl, I will slay you first, and then this anglo man-thief!” the singer yelled back.
The commotion brought the attention of the loungers in the next room, who yanked the door open and rushed inside. The crew of TCATGR swarmed into the room, Thundera Tiger and RD Rivero in the lead.
“Sparky, you okay?” Zhyan called, worry slurring his accent beyond what the Bailey’s had already done to him.
“Stay back!” Spark yelled. “La Plastico is MINE!”
From somewhere in the room, a loud roar of high-tech dance music suddenly surged into being, and an echoing voice called out, “Mortal Kombaaaaat!!!” Spark sprang at Shakira, her blade slicing the air, but the singer smiled and vanished, reappearing behind the Aztec. Caught off-guard, Spark suffered three fast punches to the shoulders and kidneys before she could react, whirling and slashing, driving Shakira back.
They circled each other warily for a moment, then Spark suddenly rubbed her feet hard on the carpet, then fired a bolt of electricity towards Shakira. But the singer had seen the move coming, sprang upwards towards the ceiling and vanished into it. Before Spark could regain her footing, Shakira rematerialized from the floor beneath her feet, driving up with a high-velocity uppercut that launched the Aztec several feet into the air. Before she could drop, Shakira bore in on her with a terrible series of high kicks and punches, juggling the Aztec across the room until finally, relenting, she stopped. Spark crashed down onto one of the lounge tables, breaking it in half and lying amidst the rubble, stunned.
“Shakira wins,” intoned the unseen announcer. Spark struggled out of the wreckage and spat blood from her mouth, glaring at the singer, who only smiled mockingly. “Round Two. Fight!”
Spark lunged at Shakira again, and the singer back-flipped away, but before she could land, Spark whipped her hands and a pair of volcanic glass knives stuck Shakira in the chest as she touched down. The singer screamed and reeled, flailing her arms in a gush of blood as the knives disappeared. Before she could regain her composure, Spark closed the distance with a forward flip that culminated in a high jumping side kick to the face. Shakira staggered back against the far wall, Spark landing right in front of her. The Aztec ducked low, then delivered a crushing uppercut that knocked Shakira up the side of the wall and dropped her to the floor in a heap.
“Spark wins,” the announcer intoned while the Aztec’s friends roared and applauded. Spark backed warily away from Shakira while the singer picked herself up, gripped her jaw and snapped it back into joint. She glared at Spark, set herself and raised her fists once more.
“Round Three, Final Combat. Fight!”
Shakira’s right hand snapped forward. Spark reacted, back-flipping out of range of a punch or kick, only to land directly in the path of the singer’s projectile, a microphone that spun around her neck, looping it’s cord twice.
“GET OVER HERE!” Shakira roared and hauled Spark towards her with a single powerful yank. Spark staggered helplessly into a well-set uppercut that sent her flying across the room. Spark landed hard on the floor, the wind knocked out of her, as Shakira moved in for the kill.
“SPARK!!” the crowd yelled. “SPARK!! SPARK!! SPARK!! SPARK!! SPARK!!”
Shakira reached over to a nearby table, took the oil lamp from the center piece and sneered, “Burn, little witch.” Then she threw the bottle at Spark on the floor.
Spark rolled, the bottle splashing it’s dangerous contents across the carpet but failing to ignite. Furious, Shakira charged forward and straight into Spark’s wildly-slashing daggers. Blood sprayed as the singer tried to pull back, screaming and slapping defensively at the knives, but it was too late. Exhausted, Shakira staggered back and stood, arms to her sides, swaying weakly.
“FINISH HER!!” the crowd yelled.
Spark closed in to within arm’s reach of the Colombian, then crouched. She waited measuring her energy, calculating her timing. Then she rose up in a tremendous uppercut that caught Shakira beneath the chin and launched her shrieking towards the rapidly spinning ceiling fans. Shakira struck those merciless steel blades, her body flying to pieces and raining down on the crowd in the form of sliced flesh and gore.
“Spark wins. Fatality,” the announcer said, and the music faded away.
********
The victory party lasted well into the A.M. hours as the revelers of TCATGR partied with the triumphant Spark and the re-united Chanur and Peachyra. Finally the bartender announced last call, and the party broke up into smaller groups, heading for their rooms to continue the fesitivities.
As they all filed into the elevators and down the hallways, nobody noticed a massive green dog-like thing, snoring lightly in a lounge chair, his bright blue poodle curled contentedly in his lap.
The End
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