Logan stared at the view from the observation port. The brats were battling on twin dirigibles. One team with blue bandannas, the other with red. There were swords, steampunk machines, flying apes, strange beasts and… orchestral music?
Elf was enjoying every last minute of it.
“Have at thee, foul miscreants,” he cried, swinging all over the place like a monkey on a bender. “However many you may be, you can not match the heart of a true musketeer.”
Tallwater was singing her own theme music, for God’s sake. Red was zipping around on some mini-dirigible with bat wings and propellers, shooting what he hoped were harmless weapons at her foes.
Logan hit the ‘kill’ button.
“Ah, noble D’Artagnion. Valiant Cyrano,” Elf was waxing lyrical. “Cyrano and Captain Blood… If you could only see me—”
The figures and most of the set-up faded. The machines round to a halt.
Logan turned the intercom on, “What the hell, Tallwater?”
“Who said it was me?”
He waved a thick volume left in the control center so she could see. “Your source material.”
“Is there a rule that says that heroics aren’t allowed to have a little style?” she countered.
“That’s my line,” objected Elf.
“You’re all walkin’ the road with garbage bags, tomorrow. Try getting this nonsense authorized, next time.”
“But you’d’ve said ‘no’,” said Sara.