Warning: minor spoilers for the Carnage Saga.
Note: apologies in advance if this story makes you hungry for brownies.
It’s a normal morning in Blueberry’s Forest.
In the Fonda cabin, Tommy’s working in the kitchen, Woodstock and Blueberry watching him.
On one counter, Tommy’s phone is playing a song.
“I’m in love with Mary Jane! She’s my main thing! She makes me feel alright! She makes my heart sing!”
You can probably guess what’s cooking.
The monster jar of homemade cannabis butter on the counter is your final clue.
The butter was supplied by Leslie, and the cannabis was supplied by Pierre.
So it’s made of top quality ingredients.
As the fluffies keep their distance, Tommy, a pair of oven mitts on his hands, opens the open, carefully extracting two baking trays full of white chocolate brownies.
One tray for the Fondas, one for the Cartel.
Or rather, white chocolate brownie. It still needs to be cut up into individual brownies.
But first, it needs to cool.
Tommy sniffs as he transfers the trays onto cooling racks.
“Another perfect batch, my dudes. Soon, we can put the finishing touches on this batch.”
While Tommy pulls the mitts off, closes the oven, and gets to work on making frosting, Blueberry shrugs.
“Da pwoh-dukt am gunna take a whiwe tu coow awf, we nu am in a wush.”
It’s not the first time he’s watched the brownies be baked. Blueberry’s very involved with the production of the Cartel’s supply.
So he’s also spent a lot of time in Pierre’s greenhouses. He likes it in there. It’s like a little forest in a forest, especially from the point of view of someone who spends most of his time very close to the ground.
Woodstock waddles over to the fridges. Yes, there’s two fridges. One of them is for keeping the Fluffy Cartel’s perishables safe. Not just their brownie stash, but also the golden berries they get by selling brownies to Goldenrod’s herd.
“An yu stiww gut pwen-tee of da stash weft, wite?”
Blueberry enjoyed the golden berry milkshake Tommy made, but for Blueberry, it was like drinking a dollar bill milkshake.
Of course, that wouldn’t even make a dent in Pierre’s bank account.
“We stiww gut a wotta da weg-yoo-waw wuns, but da wite chokko-wat wuns keep seww-in owt.”
Since Tommy added the white chocolate brownies to the lineup, they’ve quickly become popular among the herds in Blueberry’s Forest.
The first batch was sold out in a week.
And because the white chocolate brownies already look a bit like gold bars, Tommy’s going to put a layer of gold frosting on this batch, once the brownies have cooled off and have been cut up.
Yes, he’s going to be using more of that cannabis butter to make that frosting.
He’s even had edible stickers custom made, to put on each brownie like one would stamp gold bars. Each sticker bears Blueberry’s head on a big pot leaf, and the words “FLUFFY CARTEL”.
Of course, most fluffies can’t read, but Tommy felt like going the extra mile.
As he gets to work, whipping up a big bowl of cannabis butter, powdered sugar, heavy cream, and carefully measured amounts of food coloring with an electric mixer, Maria walks in, Moonflower toddling in behind her. Maria was busy changing Maria’s diaper.
Moonflower makes a beeline for Woodstock and Blueberry, greeting them with headpats, and Maria eyes the brownies.
“Smells good, Tom.”
“This is gonna be a special batch, babe.”
Tommy eyes a jar of gold luster dust, next to the jar of cannabis butter.
“I didn’t even know you could eat gold, babe. These brownies are gonna be magical and anti-magical.”
Blueberry cracks a grin as he looks up at the jar of gold luster.
“Su, if Bwuebewwy num summa dat gowd stuff, wud Bwuebewwy make gowd poopies watew?”
Tommy laughs at the idea.
“Well, Pierre said that the gold just passes through your system, so probably. We’ll find out when we find sparkling turds all over the forest, Big Blue.”
“Poh-wish a poopie, it am stiww a poopie.”
Moonflower giggles.
“Gold poopies!”
Maria sighs.
“Oh dear, you’re talking like a fluffy again.”
“Hey, at least she ain’t saying the S-word again.”
“True, true. You know, she’s getting close to preschool age, so this is just a temporary problem–”
“Maria, babe, you know how I feel about schools. Annie’s right, they’re no place to learn.”
“What about the School, Tom?”
“…Okay, that one’s alright, but I still think we should homeschool Moonflower. I mean, Vic’s the best history teacher there is, because he’s lived through it!”
Woodstock gives Tommy a look.
“Yu am gunna change yu mine wen Moonfwowew nu can say da wettuws Eww ow Aww nu mowe.”
“Dang, I’m outnumbered here!”
Blueberry shrugs.
“We aww wan da best fow Moonfwowew, Tommeh.”
Tommy gives Blueberry a surprisingly indignant look.
“And you think I don’t? Look, it could be a lot worse. I was conceived, born, raised, and educated in the Mothership. So far, Moonflower’s only one for four. Don’t I have a say in my own daughter’s upbringing?”
“Of course you do, you dummy.”
As Moonflower plops down on the floor, watching her father mix up the frosting, Tommy sighs.
“Then why does everyone keep tellin’ me I can’t homeschool her, maaaan? I don’t trust public schools. They don’t teach you how to be anything except just another cog in the machine.”
Blueberry grins again.
“We gut pwen-tee of fwends hu cud weck-oh-mend a gud skoow, Tommeh.”
“Okay, yeah. But we ain’t got the dough to send her to Harvard or something.”
Then Blueberry rolls his eyes.
“We aww wib nex doow tu Piewwe. He wud pwob-ab-wee pay fow Moonfwowew ed-yoo-kay-shun if Tommeh awsk nice-wee.”
Tommy glances at a jar on top of the Fonda’s fridge, full of quarters, dimes, nickels, and a few dollar bills.
He knows the exact amount of money in that jar. He’s good at math, because he also doesn’t trust calculators.
“We’ve got a college fund for Moonflower, Escofluff. But that ain’t enough for Harvard. Maybe enough for El Harvardo.”
“Am dat weawwy a fing?”
“It could be, Big Blue. Anyway, yeah, if Pierre’s gonna keep bugging me about this, I could probably talk him into paying for college.”
“Whewe did yu eben git dat muh-nees, aneeway?”
“Same way you get money, Big Blue. Pierre doesn’t need the profit he makes from the greenhouses.”
The Cartel’s money is kept in a safe in this cabin, and if a Cartel member needs some of the cash for something, Tommy will help them, begrudgingly playing the role of banker.
He doesn’t trust bankers, either.
He’s not even a big fan of money. But it’s a necessary evil, Tommy knows.
That’s one reason he likes fluffies so much: most of them don’t give two tugs of a dead human’s cock about money.
It’s unusual for a feral herd to have money, and even more unusual for a herd to use money.
Sure, a street fluffy may happen to find the occasional dropped coin or bill on the streets and take it back to their nest because it’s pretty, but most fluffies don’t really get the concept of money unless it’s slowly and patiently explained to them, often more than once.
They can learn to understand the concepts of trade and barter, of give and take, even if a bratty smarty’s understanding of the latter is “you give, I take.”
And they can learn to understand that the exchange is not always equivalent. Many house fluffies have been amazed to see how much their owner can get for just one flat green papery thing.
They can’t tell the difference between a one dollar bill and a hundred dollar bill.
Fluffies in other countries have an easier time distinguishing between the different denominations. Most other currencies use different colors for different denominations, and color-coding is very helpful for fluffies.
To be fair, whoever decided that all denominations of American dollar bills should be the same color lived and died long before fluffies were created.
Many owners have seen their fluffies try to literally make some money, with the tools available to the average fluffy: crayons and drawing paper.
If it wasn’t to buy sketties, it was to help their owners, because fluffies tend to overhear more than their owners think, and humans tend to complain about not having enough money.
Countless green crayons have been sacrificed by these well-intentioned counterfeiting rackets.
It should go without saying that they don’t actually work.
Even if someone was fooled by the crayon, the paper being the wrong kind, and the barely recognisable portraits of dead presidents, those fluffies don’t have a way to cut their counterfeits down to the size of an actual dollar bill.
FauCorp’s still working on a pair of fluffy-safe scissors, and don’t expect that one to hit store shelves any time soon.
The hard part isn’t making a pair of scissors a fluffy can use, it’s preventing the scissors from injuring those fluffies, while still being sharp enough for their intended purpose.
If Deston’s ongoing attempts to discover the secrets of chivalrium eventually succeed, they could simply create more chivalrium, and make the blades of the scissors with that.
Calvin’s already had Mel Baron make a pair of chivalrium scissors for his fluffies.
Chivalrium is a magical metal that will refuse to harm someone as innocent as a fluffy.
Sadly, the ChaotiX doesn’t have enough of the stuff for mass-production.
Anyway, Blueberry’s herd has figured out the concept of barter a long time ago. When Tommy and Maria first visited the herd and accidentally gave them some pot brownies, Blueberry bought his herd’s way to the top of the forest’s hierarchy with pieces of brownie, becoming the world’s first fluffy drug dealer.
While remaining much nicer than most human drug dealers.
And those golden berries are used as a currency by Goldenrod’s herd. They’re the best tasting berries in the forest that don’t make whoever eats them shit themselves to death, and the bushes they grow on are on Goldenrod’s turf.
But those are currencies that have value because they’re useful. That’s something most fluffies can comprehend.
And they’re perishable, meaning they can’t be hoarded away indefinitely for the sake of hoarding.
The idea of humans wanting large amounts of a currency that has value for no real reason beyond a glorified “because I said so” is something that simply makes no sense to fluffies.
Sure, those coins and bills are pretty, but they don’t do anything, they don’t taste good, and there aren’t a lot of fluffies who can identify the faces on that currency.
On the other hand, a lot of dollar bills have trace amounts of cocaine on them, so eating enough of those could probably get a fluffy high.
One isn’t enough, at any rate.
Meanwhile, in the lab under Pierre’s cabin, Pierre tinkers with the Blaukörper.
He’s replacing the FauCore that usually powers it with one of the new octavium FauCores.
The old core wasn’t as powerful as the Omega Core, which is kept in this lab when Blueberry doesn’t need it.
And the new octavium cores are, in theory, capable of matching the Omega Core’s output.
After all, they have very similar origins. Octavium is the mysterious, barely understood substance of which the Stones of Octavo are comprised. It’s capable of channeling, harnessing and containing the immeasurable power of the Stones without breaking, and after the Nerd Squad and Dr. Xala’s team first synthesised it, they’ve slowly been discovering its many unusual properties.
The Omega Core was created by Hans, by siphoning energy from Kirk, who was artificially empowered as an Omega Class with one of the Stones.
Much like the Omega Drives, which Hans created by siphoning energy from Adam.
Naturally, the Nerd Squad has stabilized the four sets of Drives in the ChaotiX’s possession. Three of those sets originate from alternate timelines.
And, of course, the Stones are the indirect origin of Phenomenon X. Vulcanus had one of the Stones for eons, and used it to empower humans to protect him, as he slumbered in Earth’s core.
When humans created fluffies, and the human DNA spliced into the fluffy genome granted them the potential for Phenomenon X too, Vulcanus regarded it as a bonus. It wasn’t a bug, it was a feature.
Anyway, to get to the point, the Omega Core is very similar to an octavium FauCore.
But it is also more dangerous. If misused, the power of the Omega Core could rip a hole in the fabric of reality. Its power is just as unruly and unstable as the Omega Drives, and the Omega Classes who unwittingly donated their energy.
A FauCore is cleaner, more stable, more efficient, and even makes a more pleasant sound.
Frankly, Blueberry doesn’t like using the Omega Core unless he has to. For the Cartel’s day-to-day operations, that kind of might just isn’t necessary.
Even the Blaukörper isn’t necessary for anything beyond patrols. The forest has never been safer, barring a certain recurring annoyance from the other side of the Atlantic.
Blueberry leaves the Blaukörper parked outside the Brownie Palace when he’s on business with the other herds. Showing up in that thing would be like the President of the United States showing up to a meeting with foreign leaders in a mecha.
Granted, the world would be a much more exciting place if conflicts between nations were resolved via mecha fights.
Not a safer place, mind you.
When someone small and bony walks in through the wall, Pierre addresses them, not taking his eyes off his work.
“Are you here with good news or bad news, sir? I don’t suppose you’re here to confirm our theories about you-know-who?”
The Death of Fluffies shrugs.
YU KNU DEATH OF FWUFFIES NU CAN SAY ANEEFING ABOWT DAT, PIEWWE.
“Truly? The Many is most likely with him, and you’ve been helping us find them.”
DA MANEE NU AM ATT-ACK-IN HEWDS NU MOWE, AWN EE-FUW SIDE.
“We both know that they’re just biding their time, Death of Fluffies. And Dehak is a threat to the cosmos–”
AZWAEW SED DAT WE NU CAN TEWW YU WHEWE DEHAK AM. DEATH OF FWUFFIES AM SOWWY, BUT–
“Rules are rules, and I’m not the one who makes them. Clearly, the powers that be want to give us a chance to solve this problem on our own.”
DEATH OF FWUFFIES CAN TEWW YU WUN FING, AZWAEW SED.
“And that is?”
DEHAK NU AM AWN FOOTSIE.
“Do you mean that he’s using the Rider’s bike to get around, or that they’ve procured another means of transportation?”
AGAIN, DEATH OF FWUFFIES NU CAN EE-WAB-OH-WATE. SOWWY.
Pierre expected that answer, but he’s guessed the actual answer.
The ChaotiX and the Cabal have already got people investigating if any vehicles in Russia have disappeared under inexplicable circumstances.
The Earth side of the Dragon’s Anus, the most unfortunately named of all passageways connecting the two sides of the universe, is in Siberia, which the ChaotiX and the Cabal have concluded was Dehak’s last known location.
They don’t know he’s closer than they think.
Back in the Fonda cabin, Tommy carefully applies the frosting to the two trays of brownies.
While the right combination of food dyes has made the frosting a shade of yellow that very nearly looks golden, it’s lacking the signature metallic gleam of real gold.
That’s what the gold luster dust is for. Tommy will be sprinkling a bit of that on top before he puts the edible stickers on.
It’s just him and Blueberry now. Woodstock followed Maria and Moonflower out.
They’re going on a walk into town. Mostly because the smell of brownies was starting to make Moonflower hungry, and how would you explain that she can’t eat those brownies, without upsetting her?
Tommy certainly couldn’t let her lick the whisk.
Blueberry and Woodstock got a few licks, though.
Don’t worry. Once this batch is done, Tommy will get to work on a third batch, containing zero marijuana, just for Moonflower, who will have the whisk all to herself.
And the Cartel members who like brownies, but don’t like getting stoned.
Tommy’s got edible stickers for those brownies too. A pot leaf with a big red X over it. Pierre put together a machine for making edible stickers, and it’s easy to design new ones.
“These are gonna sell out fast, Big Blue. We should probably find a way to increase our production. And we should get some of those Time-Freezers Jack made, too.”
“If Jack made wunna dem fings big enuff fow a hoomin, it wud bay-sik-wee be a time masheen.”
“Ha! Yeah, but it only goes in one direction. And the Nerd Squad made an actual time machine, so that’s not really necessary. Y’know Jack’s working on a new model of Time-Freezer? It’ll let you age stuff like wine and cheese in an instant, he said.”
Blueberry shrugs.
“Wine am jus gwape joos dat haf gon bad.”
“Yeah, I’m not really a wine kinda guy.”
With the frosting done, Tommy grabs the jar of luster dust, and starts sprinkling it on the frosting.
“Almost done. After this, we’ve just gotta cut them. Honestly, I’ve been looking forward to that part. Pierre gave me a little somethin’-somethin’ to help with it.”
“Bwuebewwy knu, Bwuebewwy saw Piewwe make it.”
Blueberry’s spent a lot of time watching Pierre tinker in his lab. There’s a fluffy-sized elevator outside Pierre’s cabin, that can take Blueberry straight down to the lab.
Pierre’s made a lot of things to help the herds in the area since his semi-retirement.
Once the trays of brownies are covered with a sufficient amount of glittering gold dust, Tommy closes the jar and puts it back.
Then he opens a drawer, and pulls out a device that looks like a silver TV remote.
“Alright, Pierre walked me through this, all I’ve gotta do is…”
He holds the device over one tray, pointing directly down at it, and pushes a few buttons.
ZZZZZAP
The device fires a series of low-powered laser beams, dividing the tray’s gaudy contents into evenly divided brownies in seconds.
Tommy does the same with the second tray next.
ZZZZZAP
The lasers are powerful enough to cut through the contents of the tray, but not powerful enough to burn them, or to cut through the tray itself.
If Tommy was stupid enough to stick his finger in one of the beams, the epidermis would be stripped from his finger.
But he can use his healing hands on himself.
He beams as he puts the laser cake cutter away.
“Now that’s a much better way to use laser beams than vaporisin’ people with 'em. Don’t you agree, Escofluff?”
“Yuh, kinna. So am dey dun?”
Tommy grabs the edible stickers, and starts putting them on each brownie.
“Juuuust one last thing.”
“Gud, cuz Bwuebewwy nu can see dem fwom down hewe, an Bwuebewwy am weawwy cyoo-wee-us.”
“You’re gonna love 'em, man. Don’t forget to show the Cartel before you chow down. This is a work of art, and art should be appreciated. Oh, and I should take some pictures.”
Once one of the trays is complete, Tommy pauses from applying stickers to snap a photo with his phone.
snap
He uploads it to his social media, and the ChaotiX’s group chat. Yes, that’s a thing.
“Oh man, it’s already getting likes.”
Then he puts his phone away, and resumes the sticker…ing.
“I think this might actually be the best batch we’ve ever made–”
tap tap tap
Tommy and Blueberry both turn towards the window, seeing Calvin outside, a shit-eating grin on his face.
Calvin flicks his finger, opening the window with his telekinesis, and casually leans on the windowsill.
“Goddamn, those look good. That’s the kind of pot brownie Doc would eat.”
“That was quick.”
“You know how fast I can move, Tommy. When I die, you will be able to summon my spirit by turning off the lights, looking in the mirror, and opening a big bag of weed.”
“So what were you doing before I sent that pic?”
“Nothing important. Just some paperwork. Mind if I come in?”
“Of course not, dude.”
“Great.”
pop
Calvin teleports into the kitchen.
pop
At the same time, Marley appears outside the window, hovering in the air and giving Calvin an annoyed look.
“Daddeh! Yu cudda towd Mawwey whewe yu wuz–”
Then he notices the brownies and his annoyed look melts away, as he floats inside like a cartoon hobo smelling a pie.
“Otay, Mawwey see wai daddeh wuz in such a huwwy.”
“Bwuebewwy stiww nu can see dem.”
“Dey gut fwite paks fow fwuffies nao an Piewwe am nex doow, wut am yu ecks-koose?”
Tommy’s finished applying the stickers by now, and he grabs one tray, kneeling down to show Blueberry.
“All done, Escofluff. Whaddya fink?”
As Blueberry carefully surveys the tray, he nods, feeling impressed.
“Dey am aw-mos tuu pwetty tu num.”
Tommy puts the tray back on the counter, and when he catches Calvin reaching for the other tray, he slaps his hand away.
“…You know that doesn’t actually do anything to me, right Tom?”
“I know, but relax, you’ll get your share.”
Marley lands on the counter.
“Hey, hewe am a ai-dee-yuh: gween bwownies, wif wed an yewwow fwost-in.”
Calvin smirks at Marley.
“Gosh, I wonder how you came up with that specific combination of colors. I like it, though. We could call 'em Marley Cakes.”
Tommy laughs as he puts the brownies in Tupperware containers.
“I saw cupcakes that look like you on Etsy, Cal. They were called Cal Cakes.”
The containers for the Cartel’s brownies are marked with stickers. While they’re identical to the stickers on the brownies, the ones on the containers aren’t edible.
“…Love it. Send me the link, will ya?”
“Yeah, yeah. Later, I gonna wrap this up first.”
“You need some help with that, by the way?”
“Are you gonna sneak any brownies into your pouches faster than the human eye can follow?”
“Dude, what kinda greedy asshole do you think I am?”
“You can’t take your eyes off those brownies, man.”
“They look really good. For real, you gotta bake more of those. You could make some serious cash.”
Blueberry nods, looking up at the jar of money.
“An den yu gut Moonfwowew coh-widge muh-nees takun cawe of.”
Tommy laughs, putting the containers with the first tray’s brownies in the Cartel’s fridge.
“Yeah, but I don’t think those folks at Harvard would be amused if they found out how we’re paying for it.”
Calvin laughs too.
“Tommy, dude, I’ll be paying for my kids’ education with action figures, plush dolls and lunchboxes. That’s not much better than pot brownies in Harvard’s eyes.”
“Yeah, but you’re you, they probably won’t even work up the courage to make you pay.”
“They wouldn’t have the courage to say no if I insisted upon paying, either. Hey, I don’t want the kids to think that their dad being a famous superhero entitles them to get everything they want for free. Entitlement issues and superpowers are a baaaaad combination, we’ve learned that by now.”
“I think Young Quin and Roxie will turn out alright, Cal.”
“Hey, don’t forget about Ronnie. He might be the chief of Ioka Village one day, that’ll be something to be proud of too.”
“I’ve met the Pogo Tribe, Cal. Their village ain’t far away from that portal near here.”
That portal is a ten minute walk to the northeast of the cabins, in a big boulder. It was the reason Pierre began monitoring this forest, years before the creation of fluffies. If someone accidentally walked through the portal, Pierre could easily retrieve them.
He built the cabin and, prior to his semi-retirement, had one of his Remote Bodies residing in it at all times, and has always had one of the Chicxulub fragments needed to open the portals to Primal Earth from the other side safely hidden in the cabin.
The hard part was convincing those who accidentally crossed over not to tell anyone where they had gone, but Pierre has plenty of money to buy someone’s silence with. Whatever price they named, he could afford it.
These days, however, a lot of people know about Primal Earth, even if they’d never have the guts to go there.
When fluffies first started living in this forest, not long after the Fall of Cleveland, Pierre erected a fluffy-proof fence around the portal, but it turned out to not be fluffy-proof enough.
Then a few groups of Dutch sailors learned about the portal during their failed attempts to eat Pierre’s dodos, and met their deaths trying to get their desired meal straight from the same source Pierre got his dodo DNA from.
They could simply step over the fence.
At that point, Pierre decided to stop messing around with half measures, and instead erected a force field around the boulder.
He controls the force field’s whitelist, and only those who are affiliated with the ChaotiX are allowed to pass through it.
Pierre has been planning to talk with the Royal Netherlands Navy about the ongoing attempts to eat his pets.
But he’s been hesitant, because, if the Dutch government learns of Primal Earth, and the fact that dodos are abundant there…
The Netherlands might launch an invasion of Primal Earth, and the dodo might go extinct there too.
The Trinity of Terra has worked very hard to keep Modern Earth’s governments out of Primal Earth.
They know that there are too many people in the government who would look at that pseudo-prehistoric planet, and see only a big pile of resources to be exploited.
Pierre has seen Avatar too.
And he has no intention of drawing inspiration from that movie.
Meanwhile, ten minutes to the northeast, a man in a ghillie suit kneels down, looking at the big boulder and the force field around it.
“Waarom is er een krachtveld rond die verdomde rots?”
He looks at a nearby tree, seeing two bats resting on a branch.
“Wacht even, het is te vroeg op de dag voor vleermuizen…”
He calls to the bats.
“Is één van jullie die klootzak die in een adelaar veranderde?”
The bats notice him, and take flight, swooping towards him.
“No, pal! We’re something worse!”
And Henry and Carmilla turn back to their normal forms as they land.
“A couple of pissed off vampires!”
“An yus, fwuffies can be vam-piyahs tuu!”
They don’t speak Dutch, but they’re wearing universal translators on their ears.
Henry grabs the man with one hand, lifting him up without any difficulties.
“And trust me, pal, you don’t want to know why that force field is there. Pierre’s really gotten sick of you guys. Why can’t you just give up? You’ve been trying for years now! Take the hint! Dodo is off the menu for you!”
Carmilla grins up at the man.
“But yu nu am awf da men-yoo fow us.”
This is a bluff. Henry and Carmilla only drink NuBlood these days.
The man in the ghillie suit doesn’t know that, though.
“Geloof me, mijn bloed smaakt niet erg lekker! Laat me alsjeblieft gaan!”
“Only if you promise to take your buddies and go home. Leave those damn dodos alone already. This fucking joke has run its course.”
“Wij zijn Nederlandse zeemannen! Wij eten dodos! Dat is wat wij doen!”
“Yeah, well, you’re not doing it here. If you could ask nicely, maybe Pierre would clone some dodos for you. But it’s about the hunt for you, I’m aware.”
Henry releases the man, gently shooing him away.
“Go on. Beat it, ya simp.”
He’s using the old definition of that word.
The sailor in disguise turns around and runs away, and the two vampires watch him leave.
“Yu fink he am gunna be back, Henwy?”
“Probably. Those guys are persistent. It’s not a bad thing, that persistence kept the Dutch going through both wars, but still, this shit ain’t really funny anymore.”
“It am jus gunna keep happun-in, foh.”
“Yeah, so we should go tell Pierre about this.”
The vampiric duo turns back into bats, and they fly off towards Pierre’s cabin.