creepy and hatboy – attack of the breen

creepy and hatboy - heroes for a couching world.

“are we there yet?”
“no.”
“are we there yet?”
“soon.”
“are we there yet?”
“no.”
“are we ther-”
“creepy, if you ask me if we’re there yet, again, i will feed you to the ravenous bugblatter beast. now, for the last time, will you give it some time?”
“i thought having a tardis meant you could zip about anywhere and anywhen.”
“it does!”
“then why does it take forever to get anywhere?”
“it does not! and quit insulting my tardis, or you can get out and walk.”
“if you make me walk, i won’t wait for you to catch up.”

the super-sidekicks have landed

“wake up, you evil little biologically unsafe by-product of some deranged scientist’s mad meanderings into experimental surgical techniques no mad scientist should meander into without safety goggles and a crash helmet! do you hear me, creepy? i said, wake up!”
i awoke to find hatboy busily smashing my skull open with something heavy.
“ouch!” i cried, trying to unsheath my japanese runesword before he splatted me across the walls. “that hurts!”
“really?” my gleeful super-sidekick grinned. he raised the mallet again. “this will hurt a whole lot more. oh, by the way, we’ve landed!”
he was right. on both counts.

we ain’t in kansas

it was very misty outside, and smelled like the inside of a gym. well, that was hatboy’s observation, and seeing as how i would never be found dead inside such a place of overactive sweat glands, i just agreed with him while pointing out how unfair it was that he got to wear the extremely cool scarf.
hatboy pulled it along behind him with a smirk.
“you know i look better in tartan,” he said.
i struggled to counter his argument, and failed.
his grin grew wider.
“i hope you’re wearing your anti-badguy sporran,” i told him, squinting into the wisps of bitter-smelling air.
“the one with the incredible gadgets of much badguy-beaty-uppy?”
“that’d be the one.”
“of course i brought it with me. it’s hanging up inside the tardis.”
“don’t suppose you’ve got a remote for it?”
“remote? why would i want a remote? now, creepy, if you hit me again, i’ll -”
“it’s not for me, my super-sidekick of dull wits and slightly under-average ocular skills, but for them.”
he squinted into the fog, as we were surrounded by an army of phaser-wielding masked men of doom, gloom, and destruction. “oh.”
“yes.”
“bugger.”

breen

“they’re breen,” hatboy said, chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully. “note their distasteful appreciation for green, and funky masks.”
“noted.”
“they’ve got a funny walk, too.”
“they’re rumoured to be extremely gifted in the martial arts.”
my super-sidekick nodded. “no one has survived to tell the tale of ever seeing what’s under a breen warrior’s helmet. i wonder what it is they’re trying to hide. i mean, ferengi are ugly enough…”
“maybe they’ve got tentacles for a moustache.”
“i wouldn’t bet on it, creepy,” hatboy said with a sudden and absolutely smug-looking grin.
“what?” i glared at him. “you’ve figured something out. let me in on it.”
“no.”
“now!”
“well well well,” my super-sidekick skipped along after the shuffling breen. “who’d have thought we’d see the day when sherlock creepy was stumped? oh, the skanky horror of it all!”
“damn your giggles of much me-mocky,” i scowled. “i don’t know what’s the point of hiring a super-sidekick if they won’t do the thinking for you.”

the evil breen are up to no good

hatboy and i are led into a dark prison-type room, with a shiny green light zooming right at us in a most intriguing inquisitional manner.
my super-sidekick keeps pointing at bits of breen technology, and saying stuff like, “see? i told you!”
“you won’t tell me anything!”
“don’t you get it? creepy, i think you should hand in your investigative merit badge.”
i tell him to do something unreasonably biological.
“don’t be silly,” he says. “that’s impossible. now, who do you suppose that is?”
a tall and imposing breen warrior steps smartly into the room, shuffling forward with determination.
with funky tribble-like voice, it demands we submit to the breen or be destroyed.
that’s when hatboy did his thing.
and it went something like this:

hatboy’s thing

first, he siezed his sporran and threw it as far from himself as possible. this gesture was more for dramatic effect than anything else, because this sporran could only play the tune to axel-f anyway.
then, kneeling at the feet of the scary breen warrior, he clasped his hands together, and let loose a barrage of disarming tears.
“please, oh great green warrior of doom! please don’t destroy us! we noted your awesome intellecty powers, and judged your technology far superior to our own! we respect the fact that your masks are untidy, and your outfits are way too cool for school! please, oh please, spare us the indignity of a dishonourable death!”
“that’s extremely fitting of you to acknowledge our obvious superiority,” the breen said, seemingly pleased with my super-sidekick’s sudden cowardice.
“besides,” he continued, brushing himself off as he got to his feet. “if we don’t do what you say, you might assimilate us.”
“damn you and your super-sidekick powers, hatboy of nine!” seven cried, ripping the helmet from her head and throwing it at him. “must you always be so observant?”
hatboy proceeded to buff his nails on his scarf. “it’s a gift.”

catching up

“…and creepy’s even got a job!”
“i do not!” i cry, and tell seven how i babysit a counter now and then at our local video store. “i only do it for the free movies. it’s not like i do any work or anything. i mean, it’s a corporate store! corporations are evil!”
she understands. “this drone once worked at unimatrix zero,” she says with a shudder. “there was absolutely nothing to recommend about it.”

the alcoves are warm

seven sits on a barrel in front of her alcove and studies her fingernails.
“you will continue with your occupation, creepy of nine? you will adapt?”
“it keeps me amused, but i doubt it. the owners are capitalists.”
seven hisses. “capitalists? pure evil.”
“you haven’t told us about the great queen’s big practical joke.”
“we can’t, creepy. it’s very important, though. we’re here in the alpha quadrant disguised as breen just so we can set up the gag. it is very important. much depends on this drone’s abilities to adapt.”
i take her hand and smile. i wonder what she’d look like without all that armour. probably awful. “you’ll do just fine, seven.”

i am a little tipsy

the orange juice concoction is quite potent.
it doesn’t feel it, but like an insane psychocat attack, it sneaks up behind you and scones your head with a frypan still dripping grease from last night’s fry-up.
we stumble about the breen base, waving our helmets at the other disguised borg, who tell us to get a room.
we discover hatboy in the breen headquarters, fumbling through their computer records in search of some clue to his gumbo mystery.
“i think i have something, creepy,” he tells me.
“yes,” seven says. “you do, hatboy of nine. you have a big nose.”
i giggle as hatboy looks hurt at the suggestion. “i do not,” he says.
seven offers me some more sippies. i take one and offer one back. “thank you, creepy of nine,” she says, using my arm as a crutch. “yes, hatboy of nine. your nose is indeed quite the hugest nose i’ve ever seen.”
“hugest?” hatboy looks startled. “seven, that’s not even a word!”
seven waves her glass at him. “well, bignose, it is now. adapt to it.”

the borg plan

“we have to get a starship, creepy of nine, and we have to put it in the delta quadrant. we’re using some kind of dispersiony thingy, or something. maybe an anomoly, too. an inferior species fifteen of twenty knows is setting it up. mates rates, y’know. anyway, from there, it’s just a kettle of water.”
“fish.”
“huh?”
“kettle of fish, seven. it’s a kettle of fish.”
“why would you want to put fish in coffee?”
“i don’t know.”
“we’re thinking of having you obliterated, creepy of nine. dumped into space and shot at with our borg rays of green creepydeath.”
“i wouldn’t mind that at all.”
“good. when we sober up, we will have you obliterated.”

a good hearty night of regeneration

i woke at the foot of her regeneration alcove in which she slumped a little to the left.
she was snoring loudly, mumbling something now and then about my awful shirts.
hatboy stepped up behind me and whispered, “i think we should go now. before she wakes up.”
“why’s that? what have you done?”
“i think i broke their cube.”
“how’s that?”
“i put all the red bits on one side, the yellow on another, the green…”

the best thing to break up a relationship

i sat in the corner of the control room and fiddled about with my newest borg implants.
seven had given me my very own assimilation tubules, and i kept pestering hatboy by wiggling them about at the end of my wrist.
“put those away,” he’d squeak. “before you poke someone’s integrity out.”
i complied, but still wiggled them when he wasn’t around.
after a few hours, he brought me a coke and set it down beside me.
i watched it fizz.
bubbles of nothing.
“seven’s just a friend,” i told him, picking up the glass. “nothing else. anyway, i’m sure she has heaps of more friends inside her head who mean more to her than i do.”
hatboy nodded wisely, and sipped his coke. “i always said the best thing to break up a relationship is a borg collective.”

Tags: borg, creepy and hatboy, star trek