Rider on the Storm

by HK-FortySeven

Stone Temple Pilots

“♫ We’re whalers on the moon,♫”

Your boys espouse the virtues of harpoons in beautiful, grunting harmony,

“♫ But there ain’t no whales, ♫” you sing along with them, “♫ So we tell tall tales, and sing our whaling tune! ♫ Oh, I love this song!”

Everyone up on deck shares a huge, hearty laugh with each other. High-fives, shoulder claps, and arms locking together are shared freely like candy as your troops dance around and bask in their merriment, reflecting the amazing mood everyone was in.

Amazing what being back at base for just five days will do, huh?

“Er, ah, boss?” Grubber calls down from behind. “T-Tempest’s on the line for you.”

Smiling, your boys make way for you to pass by as you stride across your ship’s deck and towards Grubber, steering your ship as usual. This time, however, he was surrounded by two other storm beasts. They were better equipped, a bit bigger than average, and had a big streak of green - matching your own colour - dyed into the front of their hair and reaching from top to bottom. The Storm King always assigned two of his loyal elite guards to his commanders like this, colour matching hair streak and all; Tempest had a pair on her ship as well.

Of course, your real loyal muthafuckin’ D-O-double-G’s - the three named ones, anyways - were blending in with the crowd, staying on the down-low like they were meant to be. These two bouncers were, in actual point of fact, the Storm King’s way of keeping tabs on his top underlings, and everyone knew it. He got mighty paranoid about betrayals after that incident with Strife.

But back on track.

A visibly nervous Grubber passes you the conical microphone for the short-range radio, which you happily scoop up with all the aplomb in the world, knowing who’s on the other end.

“Tempie,” you coo, “How’s my favourite Sith lord?”

“If you don’t tell your troops to be quiet in the next sixty seconds,” she glowers in all of her static-filled, mono, 11,025Hz, 8-bit glory, “I’m going to make you wish you were never born.”

“Honey, I used to wish I was never born back on my world all the time, long before you entered the picture,” you chirp, not taking her threat seriously in the slightest. “If you can actually make me feel worse than the terminally-online, hyper-corporatist, hyper-puritan sociopolitical panopticon I left, I’ll be legitimately impressed! And disturbed beyond words!”

“What is any of that supposed to mean?” she responds after a moment’s pause.

“You really don’t wanna know, girlfriend.”

Well that’s odd. Of all the varied names you’ve thrown on her, that one makes her start?

“Sixty seconds. Now.” she growls with what you think is her horn sparking in the background. “Or you will live to regret it.”

“Ayo, DJ!” you holler to your crowd while hanging the receiver up. “Turn it up louder!”

Grubber swallows nervously as you rejoin your boys, feeling the ninth song in a row coming on.

“♫ Oh, I’m a goofy goober, yeah... ♫”

Man, these pony girls have the finest asses you’ve ever seen in your life.

Wetting your finger, you turn to the next page of your magazine, eyes drinking in the new sortie of socks-wearing mares. Nothing quite like doing some research before getting involved with another race, right? And man alive, of all the races you’d run into on your campaign streak so far, this race was without a doubt both the cutest, and surprisingly enough, the hottest.

Heh, it almost made you feel bad about what you were gonna do to their people.

Almost.

“Wedge, you don’t need to knock on my door,” you call out without even looking at said door, instead turning the page to a juicy fold-out máreage-à-trois. “Just come in and say your bit.”

The wheel latch to the all-metal submarine door is cranked, and the door hinges open into your room. Biggs and Wedge, both with their glasses on, step inside. And after shutting the door and making sure nobody could overhear, they begin grunt-speaking.

“We’re getting close, huh? Good.”

Closing your copy of this month’s Crotch Juggs, you get up out of your hammock and exchange another pair of high-and-low-fives with your dynamic duo, all involved parties tucking away their paper slips.

“Now, is everything else also coming along just fine?”

The set of affirmative grunts you receive brings a smile to your face.

“About goddamn time. We can’t afford any more delays. And God knows you three are busy enough as it is.”

Wedge grunts as if to say ‘I know, right?’, but Biggs is full of bluster as always, denying how hard it was. But you knew better.

With the discussion over for the moment, you thread past the duo and open the door to leave, heading off above deck. Your cohorts flank you from behind as you make your way over there, making sure to remove their identifying glasses before they follow along. Like this, they just looked like any other normal storm beast you picked out as random guards, just as you intended.

Finally emerging above deck, your two cohorts peel off to gather up their fellow troops as you stride over towards Grubber. He greets you with a wave, which you happily return as you take up position next to him, pulling free your spyglass and gazing out into the horizon of the late-day ocean skyscape before you.

There it was, off in the distance. As black and skully as the island’s name entailed. Still far away, but close enough to begin prepping your boys for showtime.

“Alright, we’re close enough now,” you remark to Grubber, stowing the spyglass for a moment. “Page Tempie for me.”

“S-sure, boss!”

While he hits the call button, you pick up the announcement mic.

“Your attention, please. We now have a 459 in progress. Repeat, a 459 in progress. I need you ladies assembled up on deck, pronto. Over and out.”

Hanging up the phone, you go back to studying the island through your telescope. Won’t lie, your announcement delivery this time wasn’t quite as energetic as you’d like it to be. Now, some of that was your own fault, blowing your celebratory load beforehand with that dance party. The other half, however, was entirely the fault of the island itself. More specifically, it’s God-awful climate.

The island was clearly of the volcanic variety, judging from the plume of smoke spewing out the tip of the skull’s “nose” and it’s glowing red “eyes”. And the downside of volcano lairs that nobody ever talks about is the horrible weather they cause. The horrible smell of the sulphur and the eye-watering haze of the pollution were just a small part of it: the smog they spewed into the upper atmosphere also dropped the surrounding temperatures by an uncomfortable amount. That’s not even counting the acid rain! And being an ocean volcano, it was a constant source of low pressure, made worse by the lower surrounding temperatures they caused, and were therefore a major source of sea breezes and bad rainstorms. Not the nice, chilly, and reinvigorating rainstorms kicked up by Storm Island, either. No, they caused the awful, depressing, sinus-clogging kind of rainstorms.

It was a bad time all around, and you don’t envy anyone having to set up shop in these Godforsaken hellholes. It’s why you pick fortified castle bases like Storm Island! If you’re gonna make an evil lair, then Goddammit, make it loud, proud, impregnable, and environmentally sound!

Besides, you weren’t worried about the op’s success; you were going to wipe the floor with those losers keeping the Spheres under lock and key, and Tempest playing backup was going to turn it into a total slaughter.

No, you were more worried about the unofficial part of the op.

Running your free hand over your head, you plop it down onto the railing as you continue to scan the island for any potential openings. Or hell, any signs of an underground black market. But knowing how this game is played, it was going to be literally underground, almost no doubt about it. Now, you knew that there was a process for getting into the place the right way, but fucked if you knew how that was done here. This wasn’t your first visit to a black market, but they all had different ways of getting access. Some were just straight open bazaars like the ones in Klugetown, some had secret passwords and legit fronts. And then there’s ones like this, where you need to be part of a fucking secret society to get access to it. Probably a griffon one, too.

Pffft, you fucking wish this one was run by griffons. This far out, no chance of that. You were in for more bipedal ‘people’, that was all but assured.

Failing to scope any openings out from here, you stow your spyglass and turn your attention to your drumming hand, your slips of paper surreptitiously poking out from underneath the armour plates of the wrist.

Your smile grows as you read their contents. Everything was going well so far, delays notwithstanding. You should have more than enough time and resources to arrange everything for invasion day at this rate.

God, you love it when a plan comes together.

The radio begins ringing. The wrist of your drumming hand slides across the railing for a beat, hiding the paper slips again as it grabs the radio’s mic and brings it up to your mouth.

“You ready for war, baby girl?” you open with a smile.

“More ready than you are,” she coolly remarks back. “Just follow our lead.”

“Lookin’ forward to it,” you shoot back, “Over and out.”

With that out of the way, Grubber and you share a nod as he adjusts the ship’s course, steering it to fall into closer formation with Tempest’s. Your eyes turn back towards your gathering army, and you clear your throat to get their attention once they were all assembled.

“Alright, boys and girls, listen up. This time around, Tempest and her boys are playing the vanguard this op. But that doesn’t mean you can take it easy while they take all the glory! This island’s one of those lovely spots where many go and none return, or so I’ve heard, but they’ve never had to deal with us before, now have they?”

They call out their agreement, though it’s noticeably less excited than most other ops. They were lacking a lot in that department for the same reasons you were. The sooner you all finish this job and get the hell off this island, the better.

“Now, I’ll be straight-up with you all. We know there’s a black market on this island somewhere, but we don’t know where they’ve hidden it. Could be out in the open, or it could be behind 7 fucking secret passages. Either way, we’re not leaving until we figure out where they’re hiding. And definitely not before we trash their pad and steal their shit. Dig it?”

More agreement.

“Just remember, our priority target is wherever the hell they’re keeping their Sphere cache hidden. Watch out for the basilisks while you’re down there: we don’t have a lot of potions to un-stone you on hand. And the less statues we have to lug aboard, the better.”

That prompts you to pat your belt pouch, feeling the small vials of ‘soft’ potion inside. They worked, but boy were they slow. It’d be a lot faster if you had someone with magic spells, but c’est la vie.

“Now, get suited up. We’re going for an airdrop first, landing second. Paratroopers, bring your biggest sticks and some even bigger balls. Everyone else, get ready to Zerg whoever’s down there on our say-so. Be prepared for anything.”

They salute, chanting their usual “hurrah” as powerfully as ever. Even if the mirth wasn’t quite there, their willingness to thrown down with the best of them sure was. And right now, that was all you needed.

You really should treat them to some more food once everything’s done. Maybe out to an Indian place? Yeah, that sounds awesome. God, now you’ve got a monster craving for some curry. Okay, yep, Indian food’s on the menu today. You have spoken, and your word is law. Hell, you’ll even invite Tempest and her boys! That oughta lighten ‘em up! Well, at least for the next hour or two.

With your smile and optimism gaining more power at the prospect of gorging on butter chicken and tikka masala, you take up position at the bowsprit railing yet again, watching the island draw closer and closer. Tempest’s ship, an identical model to yours, trucked along at a healthy distance, leading the charge towards the island.

And the mare of the hour walked down from her ship’s bridge and back towards the stern railing, looking back over at you. After a few moments of just looking, she grabs the mic of a nearby radio receiver. You pick up the mic of your own just as it starts ringing, still smiling away.

“Are your forces ready?” she opens matter-of-factly.

“My forces are always ready,” you shoot back, the picture of service with a smile. “Standard paratroop drop, followed by the landing.”

“I’m amazed you even know the manoeuvres.”

“Aww, you’re breakin’ my balls here!”

“Just be ready to attack on my signal,” she says, her tone then shifting to a darker one. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about your... very poor decision from before.”

“Uh-oh,” you recoil in mock horror, hand over heart. “Am I gonna need to be taught a lesson?”

“A long overdue lesson.”

“Man, y’know, that isn’t the first time I’ve heard that coming out of a girl’s mouth,” you snicker. “Should I bring some roses and chocolate?”

Every time, like clockwork. She loses her composure and hangs up, storming off back to her ship’s wheel.

“Hey, come on!” you yell across the way. “I’ll bring the high-end Belgian stuff! Scout’s honour!”

Alas, your promises of Godiva and Côte d’Or fail to bring her back to the phone. Even with the best cards in your hand, you just can’t win ‘em all sometimes. Ah, well. The battle is lost, but the war is yet undecided!

Besides, there’s about to be another battle that you’ll pull an easy victory in.

Both of the airships lower themselves closer to the ground, flying up and along the bridge of the island’s “snout”. Tempest hollers the order to drop, and her paratroopers vault over the ledge, falling for several metres before they hit the ground running.

You look back at your boys, bracing to jump off with them.

“Roughnecks, ho!”

And with mighty battle cries to one-up Tempest’s troops, you and the paraboys drop it like it’s hot. It was a perfect opportunity for a good old fashioned superhero landing, and you land it with absolute perfection, the ground cracking and a plume of rocks and dust exploding outwards with your landing. Your paratroops, being much bigger than you, kick up way more impressive clouds with their own superhero landings. Brings a tear to your eye, seeing them put their training to such good use!

While your boys busy themselves with spreading out and finding any possible hidden enemies, you walk your way through the throng of Tempest’s much grumpier, more down-to-business troops on your way towards the island’s “eyes”. You can hear the airships landing as you reach your destination, all of your focus on playing detective.

Now, if you were an entrance to a high-end black market inside of a secret volcano lair, where would you be?

So there you stand, spending your time humming and hawing, pacing up and down and feeling around on the charred rock surfaces, trying to find some kind of hidden entrance. In fact, you spend so much time doing this that Tempest manages to catch up, walking over towards you at a leisurely pace. True to form, she doesn’t say anything, content to just stand and watch with her usual cool glare.

And the hunting lasts right up until you hear the grunt-hollers of a few storm beasts off in the distance, coming from some rocky outcrops. You jump up from your treasure hunt and hustle your way over towards the sounds, Tempest following behind at that same slow pace of hers. The hollers soon give way to the sounds of a struggle, some decidedly not storm beast hollers heard in the commotion as well. And as you get closer, the hollering becomes more frantic--

Ruh-roh. You know that sound. That was the sound those Spheres you’re here for made when they hit shit. And from the rising panic and sudden silence of the storm beast grunting, it’s not hard to deduce who was getting stoned today. So, embracing your inner Big Boss, you sprint as close as you can to the rocks before sliding to a stop, taking the stealthy approach towards the tussle instead.

Metal Gearing your way from rock to rock, you manage to arrive just in time to catch the last storm beast getting stoned. The ones doing the stoning were still hanging around, checking for any stragglers. More anthro abominations, the lot of them, all in the varying flavours of Disney rip-off you’ve come to expect. Some of them fish, some of them birds, some of them pigs. And a fair quotient of Abyssinians along with them, who were notable in that they were the ones pocketing the Spheres you were after.

You think it’s long past time you really brought the Phantom Pain to these losers.

And so, putting those completely improvised stealth skills to good use, you make your first stealth takedown on one of those cat fuckers. Once he was choked out, you snagged his pouch of Spheres and continued your attack. A fish-thing went down to a karate chop to the back of the dome. The second Abyssinian went down to another chokehold, his Spheres added to your pile. Satisfied with your Sphere collection so far, you put it to good use, chucking one of them at another Abyssinian out in the open from behind cover, drawing everyone to the sounds of his screaming as he’s quickly turned to stone and allowing you to scale a particularly tall rock outcrop to get a better vantage point.

The lion's share were gathered around their comrade, torn between interrogating one another and fishing out the soft potions. Some of the anthro abominations were still searching around off to the sides, and had just found their unconscious partners. Both parties were starting to sound awful nervous now. Counting about 27 Spheres in your possession, you fish out five of them and throw them at the gathered group like cluster bombs, successfully stoning about two-thirds of their remaining forces. Including the rest of their Abyssinian Sphere-chuckers.

With the major threat removed, you drop back down onto one of the bigger pig-people, KO’ing him loud and proud and drawing all attention to yourself. Smiling, you fish out another Sphere from your pouch and chuck it at a bird-man fleeing in terror, clocking him square in the back of the head and leaving his statue clutching where you’d hit him.

You love these things already.

Sadly, you were out of range of the rest who were fleeing in terror, but a big, burly pig-woman thing decided to try to be a hero, throwing a punch your way. You don’t think she quite expected someone half her size and a third her weight to catch her punch with barely any effort. Her eyes bulge as you quirk an eyebrow, and you flip her overhead by her hand, slamming her onto the ground hard enough to leave a small impact crater.

The stars dancing around her head pop out of existence when your foot comes down on her sternum, her attention - and sheer fucking panic - now lasered back onto you.

“So where’s the entrance at?” you ask with a winning smile.

“Right over there,” she yelps, pointing towards a rock outcrop.

“Cool, thanks!” you cheer.

And then you knock her the fuck out.

With the rabble dispersed, you head on over towards the rock outcrop, giving it a few experimental knocks. One of those knocks hit extremely well disguised metal instead of rock, prompting you to feel the whole thing out until you’d made out the shape of a door.

But you really didn’t feel like fumbling for the handle, so with Allah as your witness, you give it a taste of your shoe.

Wow, already starting to crater it? Either you’ve gotten real good, or they really cheaped out on the metal.

Pffft, nah. Who’re you kidding? You’ve always been that good.

There it goes! See, outie opening doors can open as innies if you really want them to! And wouldn’t you know it, on the inside is a decently well lit passageway, the last few of their bipedal animal occupants running off screaming, calling for the doors to be shut. Y’know, like that was gonna stop you.

Your attention is drawn away from the passage by the sound of another “person” screaming as he sails through the air, landing in a heap right next to you. One of the stragglers you’d missed. And seeing how Tempest was finally rolling onto the scene, you’d guess that was her handiwork. Hoofiwork. Whatever.

“I see you’re ready to party,” you smile, unholstering the flare gun on your belt.

“I see you’re finally being useful,” she replies evenly.

“Frosty as ever, I like it! Say, how about we play a little game?”

“No.”

“Pshh, killjoy,” you chuckle, intending on playing the game of keeping score anyways.

You fire a red flare up into the sky, signalling your boys that you’ve found a way in. But just as you’re about to step inside and lay the smack-down on the inhabitants, you’re stopped by the ground shaking underneath you. Which you’d guess was a good indication of them either activating the self-destruct sequence, or calling for reinforcements. Being that there’s Abyssinians on the island, it’s definitely the latter. But the smart play would’ve been the former!

You once again follow the sounds of hollering storm beasts in the distance, only this time it’s kinda hard to miss the giant basilisks crawling out of the island’s “eyes”. These varieties of basilisk were very lizard-like, standing a little over a yard tall and about three-and-a-half yards long from snoot to tail, with lightly iridescent stone scales and six surprisingly quick legs for being stone. They also had green, crystalline eyes that you couldn’t help but notice were awfully similar to the Spheres you were pocketing. Puffs of thick, ash-gray, and similarly iridescent “smoke” billowed out of their nostrils with every snort, which you knew right away was going to be their primary means of stoning people.

So the good news is that they weren’t of the Gary Gygax persuasion. The bad news was that they were of the Hidetaka Miyazaki persuasion instead.

Oh, and they had fucking riders. No shit, there were Abyssinians riding on top of them in nice little bucket seats welded to their metal saddles! And they were steering them around with some pretty cruel looking reins, made up of blue crystalline chains with a healthy amount of spikes jutting out from them.

All right, you were 100% going to ride a basilisk today. Yet another thing that’s way too goddamn cool to let these furry fucks have to themselves!

Grinning, you charge on off towards the mounted lizards, wanting a piece of the action something fierce. This time around, Tempest’s leisurely pace picks up real quick once she notices the basilisks, and she sprints right past you to get in on the action first. Those four legs really do her a lot of favours on the speed department, it has to be said.

The basilisks don’t get much of a chance to stone the storm beasts before Tempest leaps up high above them, horn crackling with malicious intent. She lands on top of one of their backs, booting it’s unfortunate rider forward into the petrifying mist of his mount, seat and all. She fires off a few of her signature blasts of raw, barely controlled magical explosions towards the closest targets, blasting the entire saddle off of the basilisks, nevermind the riders, before leaping to another basilisk to continue the cycle of ass-whooping.

And that was about where you jumped in as well, launching into the air and kneeing a furry fuck right in the face, pulling his sorry ass out of his seat and chucking him over his basilisk's head. He unfortunately takes the reins with him, allowing his mount to reach up and pull them off. You spend another three Spheres stoning the riders of the other nearby basilisks, preparing to jump to another one and continue your own cycle of ass-whooping.

Or at least that was your plan, until the basilisk underfoot decided to charge after the riders and start taking them out itself. That gets your attention pretty quickly, prompting you to hold back on doling out some whoop-ass to observe its actions. It batted them off, gassed them while they were still mounted, and sometimes even applied a good old fashioned tail-whip. But every time it took one out, it always did its best to help their mounts get those reins off, the freed basilisk moving to help out its brethren alongside this one.

Hmmm. Well isn’t that interesting? And it doesn’t seem too bothered by you riding shotgun, either.

Tempest leapt away from the fight once enough of the basilisks were rampaging freely, standing off to the side and watching them clean up the rest of the very frightened riders. Once they had all been turned into modern art exhibits, the basilisks crawled back towards the island’s “eyes”, your current ride very much included.

Now, that would normally be the point where you’d jump off and wave them goodbye. But even if Wedge’s intel hadn’t informed you about the plight of these basilisks beforehand, your gut instinct would still have been to keep riding them, just based on the good feeling you had about these critters. So, decision made, you sit your ass in the bucket seat and strap on, waving a somewhat surprised Tempest and a very upset Grubber calling your name goodbye as you’re taken into the island’s depths.

Much to your surprise, the glowing tunnels aren’t as hot as you imagined they’d be, being around the temperature of a sauna. And here you were expecting it to be the temperature of Mephisto’s colon! Guess you brought those climate control potions for nothing, then! Ah well, better prepared than not.

The basilisks all retreat to what looks like a hangar bay made for them, only you don’t think the Abyssinians on staff were planning on their lizard mounts returning without their riders. Or with the mounts intending on turning them into statues. They immediately start screaming and running for their lives, racing for the doors as quick as they can before they’re next on the stoning menu.

“Yeah, fuck ‘em up!” you shout, encouraging them. “You teach those fuckin’ furries who’s boss!”

Well, they sure seemed to like the encouragement. A good chunk of the cats escape in time and lock the doors down behind them, but the rest aren’t so lucky, and are quickly turned into sculptures.

“Ha-haaah! Good shit, fellas!” you applaud. “Or is that ladies? Can’t really tell from where I’m sittin’.”

The basilisks stop their retreat through the caverns for the moment, choosing this moment to finally acknowledge your existence. Most of them looked pretty confused, not the least of which was your current ride, looking back over it’s shoulder at you.

“What, me? Nah, don’t worry. I’m just here for the ride! Why, you had somethin’ to say?”

A few of them gather around and start gesturing with their front claws, hissing things at you. A perfect time to apply those translation skills learned from your storm beasts.

“Commander Anonymous, esquire, at your service,” you chirp. “You can just call me Anon, though.”

The questions continue, the critters still not sold on you. S’only a matter of time though, let’s be real here.

“Pffffft,” you scoff, “Please. Those carpet pissing kitty fuckers threw me in a cell way back when, too. I know exactly how you all feel.”

More of them gather around, getting more interested in what you had to say. Their peers continue asking questions.

“I know, right? Those fucking “people” think the whole world’s their litterbox, and that their shit don’t stink! God, ya should’ve been there when I was with my boss, storming their capital and stealing all their shit!”

They get real excited when you mention that last part, probing for more details.

“We sure did,” you answer one lizard at a time, happy as a clam. “Did they cry? ‘Course they cried! They cry if their milk’s not at the right temperature! Hah, that’s true! Hm? Oh yeah, you better believe it! Nah, their food’s not even good, either! I’ve had street food better than the slop they serve their ‘royalty’!”

You know, it’s always a wonderful thing when people can settle their differences and make nice over their favourite things, especially if that thing is a shared hatred of someone else. And boy are you ever so glad there’s more critters out there that share your dislike for Abyssinians. Many more minutes pass of you and the basilisks mocking the shit out of them, laughing all the while. Well, they at least make the motions of laughter, anyways. It’s just more wheezy sounding hissing that comes out. Still, the gesture is appreciated all the same.

Sure, there were a few times during the reptilian yuks that some of their stone gas got onto you, but it turns out they can just use those neat, long blue snake-like tongues of theirs to just lick it right off of you. So that’s a cool basilisk fact to know!

And then they ask you what you’re here for.

“What, me? Well, my official job here is to break into the black market here and steal all their shit,” you answer, fishing one of your Obsidian Spheres from your pouch. “Specifically, these guys.”

They don’t like the sound of that at all, getting visibly tense and a lot less willing to lick the stone off of you.

“Now, my unofficial job here? That, my scaly new friends, is making you all a deal,” you state, reclining in your seat. “See, unlike those fucking cats, I’m not really here to put you all under new management. And I’m perfectly willing - and able - to compensate you guys and gals fairly for these things. As well as making some... other arrangements.”

They share uncertain yet interested looks with one another, hissing some things to each other before asking you something else.

“Oh I’m gonna make it worth your while, all right. I’ve never fucked my business partners over, and I ain’t about to start. So, you in or out?”

More hushed hisses are exchanged before they give you their answer.

“Oh! Sure, sure, I can talk it over with your queen. Lead the way!”

Tempest and Grubber gape at you, loafing around on top of your small mountain of Obsidian Spheres smack dab in the middle of the basilisk lair, surrounded by their very happy and relaxed occupants. Turns out that basilisks were real cuddlers once you got on their good side. Who knew?

“About time you ladies got down here,” you remark with a smirk, scritching under the chin of your trusty ride down here. “I was starting to wonder if you’d forgotten what we were here for!”

“Boss!” Grubber wails, “You’re okay!”

“’Course I’m okay. Who do ‘ya think you’re talking to here?”

Poor little guy wants to hug you so bad, but is too scared of the basilisks to try. Though he probably wouldn’t do it with Tempest watching, anyways. Hah, ever the eternal goober. It’s hard to hate the guy, it really is.

Speaking of Tempest, it looks like she’s regained her ability to speak, steadily trading some of her shock for frustration.

“How...?!” she whispers before going into full-blown yelling. “How do you even survive these insane stunts of yours?!”

“Luck favours the daring, soul sister,” you smile, shooting your fist into the air. “Luck favours the daring.”

“There’s nothing lucky about this! You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you?!”

“What can I say?” you shrug, “Work smarter, not harder!”

Aaaaand that was the last straw for her. With one last snort and perhaps the most adorable split second scrunch you’ve ever seen in your life, she stomps out of the chamber before she presumably blows a gasket, leaving Grubber behind.

“Tell the boys to start loadin’ the goods up, lil’ G! We’re pickin’ up some dinner on the way back home. My treat!”

With stars in his eyes and a loud grumble of his stomach, Grubber gives a very happy and animated salute before he takes off after Tempest.

“Now,” you say, turning your head to the queen basilisk in the back, “You’ll be ready for me and my associates on both of those dates, yeah?”

The queen, a pretty big girl by basilisk standards and with a cute little gemstone crown to match, nods at you from her shiny new anthro statue throne. Made up of her captors, of course. Though you did have to give ‘em a knuckle sandwich or twelve to get past their armoured anti-stone hazmat suit things first. But you all had fun doing it, and that’s the important part!

“That’s what I like to hear, sister,” you wink. “But just so ‘ya know, there’s a lot of factors with our first meeting date that are outta my control, so don’t be surprised if I can’t make it to that one. But I can promise to be there for the second one, even if it’s gonna be a long ways off from now. You dig?”

She nods again.

“Awesome.”

Always nice to work with a professional.

And it was even nicer to secure yourself some new allies for your upcoming plans, too. Now that’s what you call makin’ lemonade when life hands you the lemons!

Now, if only you had some tequila and salt to go with those lemons, too...