Dashed Expectations

"Make sure not to launch just yet." The captain commanded. "We still have some people coming aboard. As for our destination..." Adale cleared his throat before continuing, attempting to command the attention of the bridge. "The beginning of the DSS Expectation's flight plan will take it on a simple, straightforward path to Starbase Starburst 717, delivering some basic supplies that were requested, before heading off towards the Tritarian Nebula near the edge of Krog space. As I am...sure most of you are aware, the Tritarian Nebula is a largely unexplored nebula, theorizied to contain many particles and other such things that have been needed to be studied. Unfortunately, it's...close proximity to the neutral space of the well known aggressive Krog Imperium has meant that for far too long, we have merely observed from afar and theorizied upon it. The DSS Expectations is the first ship that is believed to have the necessary functions to safely study the Nebula at anything more than a token distance. I am sure that many of you have heard of the...danger of the Krog Imperium's invasionary tactics." Another cough. "Perhaps some of your home planets have even been the target of their vile wrath. The nearly successful invasion of Earth is probably etched into the memory of many of you. But fret not, I have been well assured of the safety of this ship and the strength of it's weapons." He paused, before finishing. "The coordinates should be in the ship's computers, for exact numbers."

((OOC: Hope nobody minds me using Earth here))

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And coincidentally, he was right when he said more were coming aboard. A man dressed in a black suit, that appeared to be bedazzled in some areas, like a cheap showman, and wearing a similarly styled top hat, carrying a cane with what only looked like a diamond handle.

His hair was short and blond, yet long enough to be considered shaggy and his eyes were an emerald shade of green that gleamed in only a way a showman could pull off. He walked onto the ship with a spring in his step and greeted the first person he ran into, the lowly janitor, "Hello good sir!" He said, chipper, "Do you know where I could find the science deck?"

He paused for a second, "Oh pardon me, I forgot to introduce myself. I am Dazz Warlock. It's a pleasure to meet you." The man tipped his hat and bowed.

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"So then he tells me- now, you listen close-
he tells me, 'Kid, why did the chicken cross?'
Of course I can't even begin to say.
So we have one of those awkward moments
where he seems about to leap from his suit
like an overeager stripper on meth.

The pregnant pause gestates as we both stare.
'Because you have a show on Uranus!'
'I have a show where,' I strain not to shout.
'Silly little human planet,' He says,
'Funniest goddamn planet in this zone.'

I'm as stone-faced and silent as ever,
The very picture of true dignity.
'Booked you a ship, full of crazy !#%$.
You'll fit right in.' He strokes his facial hair.
'Crazy? Who are you implying is mad?!'
I'm sane. Got an A in Sane 101.
Got my Bachelor's and Master's in Sane.
'I'll hang you on your tweed coat, you !#%$!'
Totally one hundred percent real sane.

'This is why we're made for each other, kid.
You're gonna love this show on Uranus,'
He chuckles, 'You'll never want to come back!'
I have a lot to say to this nonsense,
But of course that's when the tranquilizers
he slipped in the tea introduce themselves.
I don't even have the time to hate him
as they show me to their dear friend, the floor.
Won't I stay, I have the cutest lil' nose,
as the floor smashes it like a tin can.

Next thing I know, here I am in some room.
Couldn't even tie me up or something.
Dear sweet tap-dancing Christ on an aardvark,
I hate that man so very, very much.

You know, even though you're a wall, you might
respond in some way. You are very rude.
I cannot stand for that sort of willful- oh why thank you, Madame Strudlebaker, you say there's pie and tea on the floor? Hahahahahaha, thank you so kindly!"

Having said that, the young man in the dapper black coat with a stray feather here or there passed out face-first in the broom closet he was holed up in with seemingly no explanation. Apparently those were some really strong tranquilizers.

The janitor stopped his sweeping and turned around to face the fancy man, grumbling a bit before answering "One floor up, go left and it's the first door you see. Now ask the computer next time, that's what that stupid thing's for, I'm here for sweeping not..." he trailed off, grumbling to himself some more as he continued sweeping.

WHAT A FRIENDLY GUY.

The man thanked the sanitarian and moved swiftly on his way. He pressed the space button on the spaceship's space elevator and then followed the directions of the person he had just talked to before going into the space science room. He glanced around the the empty, ill equipped room and noticed the single duck-person in the room. He walked right on past them to a unused steel table.

"Ah, this looks perfect!" Dazz said out loud, to no one in particular. He then reached into his own sleeve and began pulling out a colored handkerchief. And then another. And another. And another. After what seemed like ten minutes of that he pulled out a large black sheet with a star design on it and untying the chain of cloths from it he then put the sheet over the table.

Furthermore he took off his top hat and set it on the table and from there he began pulling out lab equipment, like beakers and the such. In the middle of it all he pulled out a rabbit but then immediately put it back, as it was not what he was looking for.

Then, with that shine in his eye he looked up at the duck-girl, "Are you ready for science, my dear?"

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She seemed to be out cold, asleep. Perhaps someone should have reviewed her medical file that said she was a narcoleptic before hiring her.

"I swear, today really is just such a super, fantabulously awesome, excellent day!"

I mean, what wasn't fantastic about it? The newspaper this morning was wonderful - finest paper that had ever been made. Get yourself a sewing needle and a sufficiently deranged seamstress, you could fashion it into some kind of imitation silk gown. The orange juice? Fantastic! Must've harvested those oranges from the little tiny window garden where Juno grew her little fruits that she tried to impress Jupiter with - shortly before trying to murder him! The air? Crisp. You could inhale it and just die - not that you would, of course, because today was, as said before, super, fantabulously awesome, with a side order of - wait for it - EXCELLENT! And you never died on days like today unless you were somebody important.

Michael Lulhoppen von Kringleheim-Salsbury the Third, expert broom technician, was certainly not somebody important. And you know, reflecting on it, he was entirely okay with that. There were worse things than walking down the paved road past all the delightful little wooden houses towards your trusty ol' jalopy, fresh-faced and ready for another day at work on the DSS Expectations! I tell you, we've had some times, the Expectations and I! Why, I remember the time I woke up in the morning and found out that my door was locked, my molars had been harvested, and I was the proud owner of ten million galactic spacedollars worth of fried manatee whiskers. And subscribed for fifty years to Killer Photos, the photography mag of choice for any enterprising serial murderers to boot! Ahaha! Good times.

Reflecting on shenanigans like that almost made him want to whistle. And what a day for whistling it was! Wind blowing through your hair, crisp green grass sticking out of the immaculate lawns, and the sun shining down on your face with that perfect blend of...

Wait. Reflect on that thought right now. Wind... Grass... ...Sun shining down on my face...

The gears were a-turning. After all, Michael's keen mind was the reason he had aced all those classes back at the Technical Institute for the Edification and High Appreciation of Cleaning Supplies.

Gosh, it would certainly help if the glare on these absolutely flawless roads wasn't shining up into my eyes and throwing off my concentration. Not to mention all these dainty little hou...ses...

He abruptly stopped walking, taking a moment to appreciate the splendiferousness of his surroundings on this day he had already determined previously was super, fantabulously awesome, and excellent. He took a look at the newspaper in his hand that he did not recall ever picking up. He also took stock of the glass of orange juice he had just finished that he still appeared to be holding and had no recollection of pouring for himself. He considered the jalopy he was heading towards - what even was a jalopy anyways? And, with the beginnings of a suspicion, he turned around to view the way he had come and took note of the large crater littered with pieces of what seemed to be very fine quality wood that one would have used in an immaculate and charming little home that he certainly had never lived in.

"...Gosh darn it all to space hell, I'm not even on the ship, am I?!"

"Great. Another genius." thought Brian as he listened to a weird voice emanating from the pantry which he didn't really have much use for as he relied on replicators for the patrons' food. He opened the door and called to the voice, "Yes, moron, you're on the ship. Now get out of my pantry." He glared at the obviously stoned janitor. "And if I catch you tripping balls in here again I will personally throw you out the nearest airlock."

"Oh, of course" he said, taking a seat as his proper position.

"You know, this ship reminds me of another ship I saw on TV once, it had a disk-like top part and two giant rods sticking out of the side. I think it was callled a tie fighter. Which is weird, because who would want to fight ties anyway?"

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Had the young man wearing a fancy black coat with feathers that seemed to litter its surface like dust been entirely in control of his mental processes (i.e.: not being ridden by tranquilizers much as a wild Native American chieftain might ride a particularly unruly buffalo he was attempting to beat into unconsciousness), he might have protested the fact that he was stumbling out of a pantry. After all, he had been quite certain - quite, quite certain - that he was in a broom closet. It had just seemed like a broom closet-y place to his, admittedly quite addled, perceptions. But, he would have no doubt added with his infinitely cultured and graceful wit,
Be it pantry, broom closet, or
washing machine,
when placed behind a strange closed door
I'm not too keen.
In that sense, I can only say to thee:
wherever I am, it's the same to me.

Ah, what a beautiful and infinite fanciful jest that might have been. Instead, as he collapsed onto the floor in much the opposite position he already had been in inside of the broom closet-pantry, he had only this to say, in a voice that was projected quite adequately, if somewhat slurred. "G...Ground control... It's... 's Major Tom. No need... No need to worry, ground control. I hear you jus'...just fine. You don't have to shout. I made the cut. I...I got this. This tin can is in expert hands."

---------------------

In the meantime, Michael was really at a loss for exactly what he was supposed to do. He blinked at the crater. He blinked once more, somehow expecting all of this to make sense. He had certainly never taken drugs in his life that could have created the sight before his eyes, but he found himself mildly hoping, as there was a first time for everything, that he might find himself being yelled at by some killjoy bartender threatening to toss him out of the airlock.

Not that it would be a very strong threat. Unless they've been more diligent with repairs than usual, that airlock has some...features that would make throwing anyone out of it difficult at best.

But there were no yells coming. However, he felt like he could certainly hear something on the horizon. It was an oddly familiar sound, but not one that you heard very often in space. Soundless and all of that - Michael didn't get to be an expert broom technician by being a dummy. He was certain if he stood there for a few more seconds and really wracked his brain to come up with an answer, he could definitely figure it out.

He sighed. "Not that this makes any sense at all!" The broom technician ran several ideas through his mind - maybe he had developed super growing powers and teleportation at the same time, explaining how he managed to crush a house and have no darned idea where he was. Or perhaps his entire life had been an illusion; he had always been a guy who lived on a really nice street in a house that looked like a blast site. Maybe he had been dreaming inside a capsule and he had been sent, the last scion of his race, to save this planet and don spandex pants in order to fulfill his calling as some sort of fantastic guy.

Gee, that noise sure is getting louder. It's like it's coming closer. He scratched his chin as he evaluated the wreckage of the house - not that there was much to evaluate. ...Wait. Scion. No, that isn't a sound but it's close.

Tires screeched to a halt an indeterminate distance behind him.

Oh! Right! Sirens!

Wait.

"Oh hell."

((OOC: It occurs to me I'm not being clear.
Do not worry about poor Michael here.
If things should become more clear later, then
you might be able to join, gentlemen.

For now, consider him as background noise.
He wanders in an odd spot at my choice.
It could be tedious; who really knows,
but I think it worthwhile where he may go.))

Raxy set down the suitcase she brought all along yes, what ever you do don't go looking at my previous posts for evidence. Its there trust me.

Then she opened it, glowing with that familar orange glow the interior of suitcases often have. Probably lined with lightbulbs or something. Its the space future, all suitcases are like that. Or maybe it contains someones soul or something and she just carries it around. But then she started pulling things out, "I can't pilot with out my gear." She said as she put on a large fur coat, shutter shades, bling, and a wide brimmed hat.

"I can't pilot with out it."

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Brian looked into the empty pantry. "...Man, I hope that I'M not the one tripping balls..." He closed the pantry and turned to look around Eight Backward, beginning to shine up the bar as he did so. "Wonder what other sorts of freaks I will come across..."

Raxy looked at the flight schedule. I guess I've got a few minutes before we take off...

She started wandering around the ship in her ridiculous get-up to see what others had been doing.

---

Dazz walked up to the sleeping duck girl and pulled a white sheet from his sleeve. He draped it over her and said, "Now you see it," then he removed the sheet, "Now you don't." As he removed the cloth Marsha had vanished. Then he returned to setting up his lab.

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In his constant effort to look busy, Johnny decides it's time to set things into motion and actually press one of the buttons.

"This one looks mysterious." He said to himself, as he pushed a big, red, flashing button with the words "Please dear God do not push this button ever!" written above it.

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Upon the press of the button, confetti sprayed everywhere, a disco ball lowered down as the lights dimmed, and dropped some crazy techno beats, because there's only techno in space.

Another screen lowered down, spinning as it did so, before finally stopping to face little Johnny over here, quickly filling up with the silent film-esque text we all know and... know. "Congratulations on reaching the end of the universe! It seems like just yesterday, you all were just coming on board the ship, so young, naive, and let's face it, even a little bit stupid. But despite all that, here you are! Not just anyone could literally make it to the end of the universe and live to tell the tale! Well, you probably won't live much longer, but hey, let's not worry about that, it's time to party! Get your groove on, pass drinks all around, and let's go hog-wi-...

...We still haven't left the dock, have we?"