ATM II RPG

[littlemanpoet]

"She should die," Anakron said. "It's a shame it was just a robot."

"Anakron! What a terrible thing to say!" Panakeia cried.

"You'd say the same thing if ridiculous words were put in your mouth and you were treated-" Anakron became articulate for a moment, gnashing his teeth, wiping at his eyes, looking for blood and not finding any.

Panakeia was the only thing keeping him from lashing out. He dearly wanted to lash out.

"I'm going to find her! And kill her." He hurried off in the general direction of deeper into the Mountain.

Panakeia allowed herself a moan and a roll of her eyes and followed.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli stood for merely a moment before spotting Anakron's disinclination to address her question. She looked down the side of the mountain and gasped, seeing what looked distressingly like the Gondorian Ambassadors under her protection and supposedly under house arrest. She left Anakron at a run.

She found the chambers of the Gondorians disconcertingly empty with a single guard wandering vaguely around muttering about "them." Cursing Roggie's guards and resolving to trust nobody but her own recruits from now on, Alli made her way to a secret chamber at ground level, pulling keys from her pocket as she went.

No, no, no! Somebody is going to get hurt...

Alli jammed a key into the ignition of a quad, mounting it's leatheresque seat with practiced ease, and flicked it on, squeezing the gas. With no hesitation, she barreled in a most dangerous fashion through the dizzily turn-filled bowels of the mountain until she found an exit. She braked quickly, spotting the ground zooming away from the hoisted mountain. Steeling herself, Alli put the four-wheeler in reverse just long enough to give herself a running start. She took a deep breath and revved the engine, speeding from zero to thirty-seven in a few short seconds and shooting, air-borne, from an exit of the mountain in a way James Bond would find impressive.

Ignoring the mountain steadily making its way away from her, Alli headed in concern toward the Gondorians. Her ambassadors... the Mordorians... they knew their way around. They would remember their mission: to calm Roggie into renewing negotiations. They would remember, eventually, that they had a purpose: to calm their king in a diplomatic fashion. They would find Roggie and they would convince him to sit down and talk. And they would work together as a group in such a way befitting politicians, which meant to say that yes, they would find him, sit him down, and they would all, as a group, talk. And talk, and talk, and talk, and maybe, hidden within all of the talk, they would possibly hit upon something important. But no matter what, Alli had faith that her Mordorian ambassadors, crazy though they were, would get something done.

She had faith that Smilog would develop some sort of allegiance to his king and would work for him rather than against him. She shook her head, uncertain that her faith was warranted, but hoped that he would remember that he was an official, chosen for an official job, and that job meant that he needed to be able to work with Roggie.

Alli had faith as she rode that Maika would keep being Maika, that Igör would continue to be her loyal spy and would help to smooth tensions, that Skittles would... well... Alli had little faith in Skittles. A quiet bleating voice in her ear whispered to Alli that Skittles had just been made chief war advisor. Alli very seriously and very suddenly had a strong urge to turn her quad around, but Mount Zoom Palace, Casino, and Motorvehicle was growing farther away by the second.

Anakron... Alli considered Anakron as she drew closer to the Gondorians. He had never ignored her before. Spoken harshly to her... told her to stop crying and get a move on... glared austerely as she drunkenly danced with Aime upon table tops to celebrate the slaying of Mario... but he had never ignored her or looked so gleeful to witness chaos as he had just then. Alli hoped that Panakeia could exude some sort of positive influence.

Lola... Alli gasped as she considered Lola, feeling gravel pull her quad in directions purely unintentional. She leaned all of her weight to the left, trying to keep from eating dirt after a badly balanced landing from a bit of an accidental jump.

Alli had total faith in Lola's abilities. She knew that if the bombshell couldn't accomplish something, she would know when to enlist the aid of Ms. Martinet. Ms. Martinet could inflict order while Alli was gone.

The Gondorians though... They were stranded in Mordor. They were technically political prisoners until Roggie changed his mind. Escaped prisoners... the only time that Mordorians would help their king was if it meant making others miserable. Alli had to get the Gondorians back to Mount Zoom before Roggie found his prisoners missing. And she had to keep them from becoming Mordorians during the process. She groaned as she pulled up beside them, all looking utterly dumbstruck as the black-haired speed-demon kicked up dust as she braked.

"Gondorians, it seems your current home has left without you. Why you were not in it upon its departure I do not care to learn. I'll find out soon enough without your help. However, we must get back to it. First, though, I suspect that your hunger may be nudging your stomachs and the bodies that carry them in the direction of the eateries whose scents have filled the air? I can't guarantee your protection from any other anakronisms, but I can ascertain that eating food here will not harm you. Where would you like to go for midday meal?"

[Diamond18]

In a dank and dark corner of a dungeon, deep in the nethermost regions of Mount Doom, nothing much of interest was happening.

However, in one the residential suites (Anakron's, to be exact) Skittles MacFarlewyn, still leather-clad and still insane, was crouched over the erstwhile Elempi's trunk. She held a canister of itching powder in one hand and giggled with wicked glee as she shook the contents over Anakron's clothing. He owned several different kinds of identical black robes with matching black Spongbob Squarepants underpants, and all were now guaranteed to give him a rash.

"Let's see how evil you are with itching powder in your underwear," she snickered aloud to no one in particular.

Suddenly, a small device disguised as a wristwatch began to give off horrific noises. "Blast!" Skittles cried, dropping the itching powder and flipping the device open to read the display. "Head trauma and skin breakage and snapped wires, oh no!" she said aloud, to no one in particular, through gritted teeth.

She leapt to her feet and kicked the trunk closed, then spoke into her device. "Hot Stuff, this is Taste The Rainbow. Come in, Hot Stuff. I repeat, Hot Stuff, this is Taste The Rainbow. Come in, please." She thwacked the device a couple times and then cursed. "Why does he not answer?!" Dauntlessly, she continued to speak into the pseudo-wristwatch as she hastened stealthily from the suit. "Hot Stuff, if you can hear me, there has been a complication in Operation Drive Anakron To Madness. Automated Skittles has suffered a blunt object to the skull in sector 17 and is now a liability. I am going to retrieve the robot. Do you read me, Hot Stuff? Oh, bother."

She came up short, confronted by an androgynous, yet fierce-looking-in-a-stupid-sort-of-way Orc in the hallway. "What are you doing in his Staffnesses' room?" hissed the Orc.

Skittles kicked him in the gonads, poked him in the eyes, and issued a jugular crushing karate chop to his neck before slitting him from belly to clavicle with a switchblade. Perhaps a bit excessive, but she had a general dislike for Orcs, if you hadn't already noticed.

(Fear not, gentle readers, for this hapless Orc was not the beloved Lugnut, but Lugnut's evil twin, Nuglut.)

She left the scene at a run, hoping to get to the damaged Automaton before it caused too much damage.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The shaking was becoming a little more violent as the three travellers in this little escapade climbed the secret stairs. They were metal and suspended over a deep chasm that lead far down into the magma chamber, yet all they could see of it was a red glow down below. The stairs were odd; going this way and that, zigzagging from one side of the chasm to the other, and even spiralling up in places. Roggie lagged behind, desperately looking for his bag of gold and finding nothing but a pocket full of sand and a note from Psamothos saying, "Good riddance."

"This is trebly unsafe," Tollin observed as the stairs began to move from side to side a little too much for his liking. "Are you sure this is the best way to go?"

"No," replied Smilog, scratching his head, "but it’s the only way we've not tried, so lets get to it." They ran up the stairs for a little longer, but soon could hear a rumbling that was louder than ever. It was coming from the wall of the chasm that was nearest to them, Smilog tried to ignore it, but in the end Tollin stopped him from going too far ahead.

With an almighty crash, a hole was blown in the side of the chasm and some of the stair was taken with it. Now they could not get back. Out of the hole came a large, fat, bearded man with a great red cloak, pointed red hat and an obscenely large white staff. The man seemed to glide through the air as he leaped onto the stairs and shook the fragile metal. Roggie and Smilog hid behind the large figure of Tollin as the man puffed and panted and seemed to be having some trouble breathing. "Just a moment," he said with a wheeze, "I'll be all right, just need to get my breath back... there we go." yet he was still breathing heavily.

"Erm... Tollin," said Smilog, "there is something on the back of your head." and indeed there was. It was a small, gnarled creature with large flapping feet, a great big head and large luminous green eyes. It was naked except for a loincloth and a wig on its head. It pulled out its tong and blew a loud raspberry at Smilog and Roggie. Tollin quickly grabbed it by the head and dangled it in front of him.

"Is this yours?" he asked, as the small creature began to dance in mid air and sing a song that contained the word 'Moshom' far more times than anyone was comfortable with. It slipped from his grasp, leaving the wig in Tollin's hand, and slunk away to the fat man's side and began to giggle. Slowly, the Minotaur leant forward and gave the wig back to the creature.

"Thank you," it said with tears in his eyes, "I love you!" it turned around three times before sitting on the floor and chewing on the wig. Roggie rose up and slowly began to walk up the stairs away from this madness, but the fat man bellowed in a loud and commanding voice.

"Silence!" he cried, shaking the halls.

"I didn't say anything," said Roggie, looking back.

"You just did!" came the reply; Roggie couldn't be bothered arguing and continued up the stairs. "You will return here or face the wrath and impending Doom I have awaiting you, Roggie of Morgoth."

"Who on Middle Earth are you?" asked Smilog, scratchign his head, "you look like Gandalf, but if you are, then I have to say you've let yourself go a little."

"Yes, I suppose I have been eating too many biscuits," said the man, "but I am not Gandalf."

"You going to make biscuits?" asked the little creature at his side, "You gonna make biscuits?"

"No, Sollom, I am not," the man rose himself up and placed the creature (apparently called 'Sollom') on his shoulder, "Now, you three, I have some business with you! Especially you, Roggie!"

"You haven’t answered my question," pressed Smilog, gripping his axe.

"I am..." the man took a deep breath, his fat belly shaking more than the Rohirrim seeing a glue factory, "I... AM... SANTAR!"

"What?" laughed Roggie, "That’s the most hilariously bad pun I've ever heard!"

"Silence!" cried Santar, "I have a doom put aside you thee, Roggie of Morgoth!"

[JennyHallu]

"Alright, boys and girls."

Lola glided from the midst of the group, left in a daze after Skittles' sudden route outside the mountain, and they turned to her leadership gratefully.

"Obviously," she crooned, "things have not exactly been going to plan, and it's about time all this random silliness got under control." Dracomir looked like he was about to say something, and Lola quelled it quickly with a swish of her skirt and a swift glimpse of black garters.

"We still have to find Roggie, and I'd bet he's in his secret rooms. I don't know what's going on with Anakron or the Mountain, and frankly, I'm happy to remain ignorant: both seem dangerous." At the word dangerous, her eyes gleamed happily beneath their thick lashes.

Quickly she mentally ran through the events of the past few minutes: Skittles was out on the beach, Igor was...confused..., Maika and Dracomir were right here. The increased dangers of the anakronisms surrounding them told her Anakron might have finally snapped, but Panakeia had gone after him, and no one else had a chance of calming him. Lola would probably be turned into a cat on sight. Smilog was off who knows where, but this worried Lola very little. He was easy to write off: without real effort, all Lola could remember of him was that he had once passed the salt to Roggie at a dinner party.

That was all right. Maika and Dracomir were the two Lola looked upon as most useful.

"Come on, let's go!" She turned abruptly around, vamping her way down the hall in the opposite direction from where she had been leading Maika, her sensual gait showing no reaction to the carnage they found on the way. Inwardly, though, her heart sank, her worst fears realized. Anakron had finally lost it.

Two rights, a left, the second tapestry from the first right hand door, counting only those with green handles. She swept it aside, revealing an ornate door, with a message etched firmly into the lintel.

"What does it say," someone behind her asked breathlessly.

"It's in pig latin," Lola answered over her shoulder. "It says: 'Eakspay, iendfray, nday ntereay'"

"So all we have to do is say "friend", and it should open?"

Lola rolled her eyes and stepped back, standing tall and straight before the door. "Of course not. It's been broken for ages." With a fluid motion she took a flying leap towards the door, firmly toned legs and high-heeled shoes kicking firmly at the wood, which splintered in terror just before she struck. Lola landed and rolled to her feet, picking a splinter out of her hair and shaking it out with a wink at Dracomir, once again agog at where her dress had ridden up to.

"Come on, then, let's go," she urged, and the three disappeared into the bowels of the mountain.

~<*>~

A small voice from the splintered door murmured "Thank you" quietly before sputtering out of existence.

[Anguirel]

Much against his more haughty nature, Dracomir found himself, once again, in raptures over the very sound of Lola's voice, and so entirely forgot the ingeniously cunning strategem he had been about to present.

"Obviously," she trilled delightfully, "things have not exactly been going to plan, and it's about time all this random silliness got under control."

How witty! How conspiratorial! How intimate! Ooo! A black garter!

Obviously. Random silliness. Charming as she might be, nobody messed with this woman, it was clear. Such decision of tones! Might she not be encouraged to adorn the Malfoidacil line? She was, perhaps, a little old, but that had not stopped his father Luciamir, Dracomir reflected, who had married the highly unsuitable older woman Narcissowen Black after the 98th Annual Conference of Death Eater/De Sade enthusiasts.

Maybe slightly too much information from them, Tom reflected, particularly as they had insisted in detailing the romantic story of their first encounter from the earliest years of his meta-childhood. But after all, bondage seemed to be the norm here in Middle-earth. After all, nobody seemed to have objected to Thingol and Melian. Dracomir would have paused to dwell upon his astonishment that Elves, who did the cleaning at home, had once ruled Beleriand. But Lola's hair, so artful that it seemed quite artless, tumbled over one of her shoulders, so he did not.

Then she started using karate on the door. Usually Dracomir would have showe off at this point with a quick Alohamora, but he was somewhat otherwise engaged at this point.

Then he recalled vaguely where they were. He checked the Mordorers' Map. Yep, they were about to have an audience with King Roggie of Morgoth. Again. Oh dear. But at this point the Malfoidacil logic kicked back into action.

"Maika," he remarked, "I don't know if that stuff you got from Alli is helping, but if you want to double-check, I happen to have here a stylish, haute monde silver Unblemishability Cloak. Belonged to my grand...mother, y'know. Want to try it on? It's never failed before."

[littlemanpoet]

"Destined to do?" Anakron spat. "Hound me? Why?"

Panakeia was half walking, half skipping to keep up with him. "Not hound you! It's what I'm here for!"

"Who says?" Panakeia was about to answer when Anakron threw up a hand. Panakeia almost walked into it. "Shh!" They listened. Light steps, unique to stilletos on cement, could be heard coming their way, at a run. "Skittles! Doom and Dweomer! She's more cracked that the legendary Crack of Doom. I don't want to be seen by her. I'd like to keep my eyes in my head. This way!"

Anakron led Panakeia quietly down a dark corridor. They watched Skittles race by, apparently headed for the bleating robot.

Panakeia snickered.

"What?"

"You're actually afraid of her."

"Afraid? Don't tempt me or I may knock your head in too."

She glowered and stuck her chin out. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Skittles would, and worse, without a moments thought, because she doesn't. That's something worth keeping at a respectful distance. Especially with my konveyances working no better than a faulty flash light."

They had resumed Anakron's fast pace down the corridor, and presently came to his rooms, where they found in the doorway the remains of Nuglut, the former, apparently, cousin of Lûgnût. Anakron had always wondered how Nuglut had been able to stay away from those umlauts that seemed to hang around Lûgnût everywhere he went, but the lack of them was not, apparently, any help at protecting oneself from the onset of a bad case of Skittles.

"Skittles was in my room," Anakron deduced. "Very, very suspicious. Any idea what she might have been planning for me, assuming that she has the capacity?"

"Um, she did suggest to me cutting of your head-"

"I wouldn't put it past her."

"-or filling your shorts with itching powder."

"Nor that."

Anakron filed carefully through his clothing.

"Well," he concluded, "I'm glad she left her signature, tragic as it was for the victim. I'll not be wearing any of these ever again. I'll have them burned. At any rate, having triumphed over the insanity planned for me by Skittles, I sense that the Dweomer evil is somewhat at rest. Now, what's this about you and destiny?"

[Diamond18]

Skittles slipped unnoticed through the darkness like a dark, unnoticeable slippy thing, till at last she reached the hall in sector 17 where her electronic doppelganger lay in a rather destroyed state. The hallways was otherwise unoccupied, which was fortunate for those who might have been occupying it, seeing as how seeing the damaged doppelganger did not put Skittles in a very charitable mood.

She hefted the life-sized Skittlesque machine over one shoulder and looked both ways before crossing the hall. Presently, she came across a confused and deserted Igör, who had inexplicably been left to his own devices whilst Maika, Dracomir, and Lola disappeared into the bowels of the mountain. Skittles first instinct was to eliminate the witness, but then she got a better idea, and grabbed Igör by the scruff of his neck with her free hand. "I need your help!" she declared, dragging the oddly complacent man-thing along with her.

They came to a door marked Top Secret and Skittles entered a secret code into the keypad beside said door. Then she had to undergo a retina scan and a fingerprint test, before the door finally hissed open in a hydraulic fashion. Tediously, they had to pass through three other such gateways before reaching the Top Secret Automaton Laboratory where Skittles was, oddly enough, chief robotics engineer.

Igör gaped at this information, and Skittles said, "What? I can't have hidden depths?"

She lay the robot out on a cold steel table and assembled various surgical tools and supplies. Then she washed and sterilized her hands, which Igör found somewhat odd, but did not comment on. "What did you need my help with?" he asked, helpfully.

"We must repair the creature's brain," Skittles said solemnly. "Or make it a new one. You will be my assistant. You may call me 'master'."

"Is that last part optional?"

"I suppose so," Skittles relented. "Forceps."

"Pardon me?"

"The forceps. Hand me the forceps."

"Oh." Igör studied the array of tools. "Which is the forceps?"

Skittles pointed at a power drill. "That."

"That looks like a power drill."

"Excuse me, but who's the chief robotics engineer here and who is the hunchbacked assistant?"

"Okay, fine." Igör handed her the drill.

"Be a doll and plug it in, would you?"

Igör did as bidden, and the two of them spent another hour or so drilling, cutting, and generally doing vague things to the head of the automaton.

Finally: "It's not use!" cried Skittles overdramatically. "The brain is ruined! We must find a newer, better brain!"

Igör considered pointing out that the brain had been in better shape before all the drilling and cutting, but forebear, and simply said, "Yes, master. I mean, Skittles."

"But where will we find a newer, better brain?" Skittles mused, tapping her chin.

"Perhaps in there?" Igör pointed to a door marked 'Newer, Better Brains.'

"Brilliant! Go fetch me one!"

Igör sighed, but went off obligingly. He opened the door and peered into the darkened room. It smelt vaguely of formaldehyde and elderberries. He groped around finally happened upon a light switch, but not after seizing hold of two mice (one dead), a spider, and several cans of processed cheese.

Dim light suffused the storage room, and revealed several rows of Mason jars lined up on dusty shelves. Igör read the labels curiously. There were Elven brains, Hobbit brains, Dwarf brains, Orc brains (shockingly tiny, those) and Human brains. There were geniuses, pretty-smart-chaps, average thinkers, and complete-dodos. There were right-sided thinking brains and left-sided thinking brains. There were male brains and female brains, fat brains, skinny brains, brains who climb on rocks, tough brains, sissy brains, even brains with chicken pox.

"Abby Normal," he read one label. "Sounds fitting." He carefully picked up the jar (coughing a bit from the dust cloud) and carried it back out to Skittles, who had grown bored and was contemplating amputating the robot's legs. Luckily, she had only gotten as far as drawing lines on the thighs with a pencil.

"Excellent," she said, opening the jar. "Perfect! Superfluous!" She dumped the brain into the gaping cavity that was RoboSkitt's skull. Then she patched up the forehead and reapplied the skin (which was two shades darker than the rest of the robot's skin, since they seemed to be out of 'deathly pale') and declared it done.

"Step back," she instructed, whipping out a pair of defibrillator paddles and rubbing them together gleefully. Then she administered a jolt to the robot's chest. It began to violently twitch, and Skittles cried, "It's Alive!!!!!!!"

"Yes, mas... er, Skittles."

The robot got up from the table and said, "Konvey! Konvey! Konvey!"

Skittles gave it a kick, and it settled down. "Hello! I am RoboSkitt 2000™, how may I serve you?" it chirped.

"I don't know," Skittles admitted. "I have no idea where this plot-twist is going."

"But... what's it for?" Igör asked, scratching his head.

"Chaos, confusion, distraction."

"Isn't that what you're for?"

"Yes, but RoboSkitt provides double the chaos and double the fun!"

"I'm the statement in the great mint of Robomint Gum," offered the robot.

"Precisely. And pretty soon every chief war advisor will have one." Skittles turned the robot toward the door and said, "Go, little one, go create madness until I think up a good use for you!"

[Formendacil]

The Gondorians stared, dumbstruck, as the supposed-to-be immovable mountain raced off over the horizon.

"I don't believe it..." Angawen started to say.

"Best that we don't," said Hyarmenwë, doing his best to keep a brave face on things. "Believing in... that... could get us Assignment."

"Old man," said Angawen, "just about everything here could get us Assigned."

"They're gone..." Bearugard wasn't listening too much, it seemed. "They've abandoned us."

"Well, seeing as we weren't supposed to have left the mountain in the first place, we can hardly get upset about THAT," said Angawen irritably. "Let's get on with what we planned to do in the first place: gather some information. The presence or absence of Mt. Doom doesn't make a whit of difference to whether or not we can accomplish that task."

"But the negotiations..." Bearugard persisted. "They just rolled away!"

"The negotiations were practically terminated anyway," Hyarmenwë pointed out. "The Lady Angawen is right: we should make practical use of this time. Surely it won't be long before they realise we're missing?"

They all stood silently, watching as the last glimpse of Mt. Doom disappeared from sight.

"Right," said Angawen. "Enough of this standing around. Let's get to work."

"And how do you propose we do that?" asked Hyarmenwë. "Just walk up to a Mordorian and ask for inside details of King Roggie's court?"

"Why not?" asked Angawen. "Have you got a better idea?"

"I haven't got any idea," replied Hyarmenwë. "But considering that most Mordorians were banished to this forsaken land by the laws of Gondor, I don't see the locals being too friendly. And we stand out in this land like trolls in the Shire. And more than a few of those things or people banished are dangerous. What have we for weapons? A few blades and some personal prowess."

"All we have to be is careful," said Angawen. "It's no different to be careful in Mordor than it is in Gondor. Keep our wits about us and we shall be fine- right, Bearugard?"

Angawen turned to the third Gondorian for support, to see him staring into the distance. An anakronism of some sort was racing towards them. As it drew nearer, they saw that the spymaster, Alli Umfuil, was riding it.

"Gondorians," she addressed them once her ride had halted, "it seems your current home has left without you. Why you were not in it upon its departure I do not care to learn. I'll find out soon enough without your help. However, we must get back to it. First, though, I suspect that your hunger may be nudging your stomachs and the bodies that carry them in the direction of the eateries whose scents have filled the air? I can't guarantee your protection from any other anakronisms, but I can ascertain that eating food here will not harm you. Where would you like to go for midday meal?"

"Anywhere with food and as low a number of anakronisms as possible would be fine," Angawen told Alli immediately.

"I'd rather forgo food altogether, and get back to Mt. Doom," said Hyarmenwë. "Food can wait until things are back to as they should be."

"This is Mordor," said Alli. "Nothing is as it should be."

"I'm hungry," said Bearugard. "I think we should eat."

"Two to one," Angawen flashed Hyarmenwë a self-conceited victorious smile. "We win." She turned to Alli. "Lead the way. We don't have a clue where we're going."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Alli smiled, holding back a smirk. I don't have to like her, but I have to be nice.

"Of course you don't. I should have remembered just how very uneducated you are."

Well... at least not openly hostile...

"I apologize, Hyarmenwë, that things do not seem to be going well." She smiled a sincerely apologetic half-smile at the aging dignitary. While Alli liked all of the Gondorians in their own way, she was especially fond of this old man. She remembered him from before her Assignation... one of the few politicians she had respect for. His interest was not in personal gain, but in the welfare of the country he loved. "I hope you are aware, all of you, that this mess is not of your doing and I sincerely apologize for being unable to speak to you before the proceedings. I know that you were sent here with little idea of what to expect..."

She paused for a moment, glaring at a reporter goblin falling from the eaves of a nearby building. She rolled her eyes as he lay on the ground whimpering. The media... always whining when a story is less than easy to get hold of.

"Come..." she resumed. "We cannot hope to catch up to the palace until I can ascertain it's location, and that's assuming that it has stopped somewhere. There is a small inn a few streets over that was Assigned only because it served vegetarian meals and the King was unhappy with the term for meatless items. The food is delicious, and not all meatless, the old man that runs the place is kind, and you will find the place to be much like a small tavern at home. As we eat, you may ask me any questions you desire pertaining to your business here. After that I will try to get in touch with a few of my people and we'll make a plan as to how to get to Mount Doom."

[littlemanpoet]

Anakron considered. So Skittles had gotten Skittlebot working again. Apparently the thing was more insane than its maker, or stupider, as it was trying to pull a push-door. Very well. Anakron lifted his staff, facing Skittles, thinking of one of the anakronistic religions from the deplorable future.

"Konvey."

It didn't take.

"Konvey!"

Panakeia pushed passed him. It still didn't take.

"Kon-bliddy-vey!!!"

"I greet you in the name of the Federation, Skittles!" Panakeia announced. "I represent Captain Kirk and the Star Ship Enterprise, bringer of peace and justice throughout the four quadrants of the Galaxy."

Skittles sucked in breath. Anakron held his. It looked as if it was taking! But this was Skittles, and who knew what weird way it would realize itself? And if Panakeia would like it or be dumbfounded or scandalized or worse. Anakron snickered.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The tension was rising as Panakeia awaited Skittles' answer. All the while, the 'Waaaaaaarrrrrreeeegggg' noise was getting louder and Igör looked from side to side, wondering what to do.

All of a sudden, a trapdoor opened in the ceiling and out fell Smilog who fell on top of Skittles. Then came Tollin, who landed on top of Smilog, and finally Roggie, who landed on a near by table covered in bottles of gin. After them came a torrent of water which swiped through the laboratory, knocking over almost everything. When everything had settled, Roggie rose, and dusted himself off, Tollin and Smilog did the same while Skittles lay slightly unconscious in the water.

"Don't slouch, Skittles," commanded Roggie, "where are we, Dwarf?" Smilog helped Skittles up, but she simply punched him in the face before dashing behind a bench. Tollin picked up a bottle of gin and hid it in Smilog's pack, for later. Andvarri then dropped out of the trap door and landed face down in the water, eventually he got up.

"I think we're in some sort of laboratory," said Smilog, pointing out the obvious, "a now rather wet laboratory." Andvarri walked towards Roggie, but he stepped on some slippery stuff Skittles had been making and he flew across the room and smashed into a glass cupboard. He danced around, screaming before tripping over backwards and landing in a bucket of acid. He leaped up and ran to the other side of the room, then he fell onto a work surface, covered in a substance that, reacting with the acid, caused a small explosion that sent Andvarri out of the nearest wall and far into the LA beach.

"That was weird," remarked Skittles, rather puzzled. Roggie made his way to the exit, calling Skittles. She merely laughed at him. Smilog and Tollin looked around at the chaos they had indirectly caused and slowly began to follow Roggie to the exit.

"He's got the right idea," said Smilog, quietly, "let’s hope these good people don't notice us."

[Diamond18]

It took a lot to confuse and unsettle Skittles MacFarlewyn. But it can be said that Anakron and Panakeia somehow figuring out where she was and somehow getting past all the security devices and Anakron somehow waving his staff and yelling "Konvey!" until she felt an odd twitching in her skull, followed by Roggie, Smilog, a man and a minotaur crashing through the ceiling in one of the strangest and illogical forms of drainage ever created, was rather a lot. The coup de etat of the man causing an explosion, blowing a hole in the wall, and rocketing out onto the beach, was nothing short of a very lot.

Punching out the dwarf and laughing at a wet and bedraggled Roggie only made her feel slightly better. She turned to Anakron and Panakeia in a wrath: "Do the words 'Top Secret' mean nothing to you people?"

"Apparently not," said Anakron imperiously.

"Who cares about such things, when they are in service of the Captain!" cried Panakeia with a feverish gleam in her eyes.

"Yeah, uh, whatever," Skittles said, distracted by RoboSkitt blowing a couple fuses at she sat in a puddle. Skittles rushed to rescue her robo double from further damage and propped her up against a wall. Suddenly, an odd feeling came over her, like the twitching from before only more violent. Sort of like a sneezing in her skull. And lo! She looked upon RoboSkitt and saw her with different eyes. Well, technically, the same eyes as always, but when the information was sent to her brain it told her different things.

She fell to her knees and looked up at the robot in adoration. "Goddess!" she cried. "It is not right that these lowly cretins," she waved a hand in the general direction of Smilog and Tollin, then towards Anakron and Panakeia, "should look upon you!"

RoboSkitt was now blind in one eye, due to the water damage, but she peered at Skittles from her good eye and said, "Hello, I am RoboSkitt 2000™, how may I serve you?"

"Ask not how you may serve your human counterpart, but ask how your human counterpart can serve you," Skittles said with something akin to fervor. "Tell me how to serve you!"

"I am a fully automated human simulation and can go up to 24 hours between recharging. I am manufactured by ACME Inc. and come with a lifetime warranty, I--"

"Listen, you stupid robot," Skittles snarled, whipping out a switchblade and holding it up to RoboSkitt's one good eye, "I'm trying to worship you here, so say something worshipful before I pop your vision port out. Capice?"

RoboSkitt blinked rapidly and gulped. "Oh-ohkay. Um... I... we must slay all non-believers."

"I'm outta here," said Smilog, and Tollin nodded. They quickly slipped by Anakron and Panakeia, who were too busy gaping at Skittles to bother noticing the giant morning-star wielding minotaur. Igör thought this to be excellent thinking and shuffled out after them.

"What's going on?" Panakeia asked. "Why does she not join me in expressing love and devotion to the Captain?"

"I don't know, the sudden onslaught of water must have interfered with the Konveyance," said Anakron. Then he laughed. "It would appear she now worships her robot double. Hmmm, what would one call that? Roboticism? Narcissism?."

Skittles turned to them. "I worship the supreme divinity of RoboSkitt 2000™ and it is my sworn duty to slay all non-believers." Her eyes narrowed. "Do you believe?"