Stan Lunch woke to a buzzing fly, his third lips pressed against his aquarium, fearing he was drowning in an underwater insect hive. He’d slept through his alarm again.
He rode his alpaca, still enshrined in last night’s royal wizard’s outfit, to the kitchen table. After a leisurely breakfast, he resolved that he’d have to wear his Fighter Flight onesie to work. There just wouldn’t be time to change AND get the Perfume Workshop up and running.
That was when Stan spotted a hover car blocking the parking exit at Hoof Mansions (his apartment tube complex). He spit his sausage waffles halfway across the room, which his alpaca promptly gobbled, the stars on its pointy wizard hat sparkling.
Stan floated out onto the vibrating tarmac path, carefully adjusting his squeak shoes to avoid blowing yet another gasket, and arrived at the doorstep of Heiferwaith’s (his neighbor) tube dwelling. He knocked for over an hour—only every five minutes or so–, but Heiferwaith did not answer.
Stan harrumphed, the gears in his neck brace leaking chill diamonds as the pain increased, and wandered over to the open back window to peak inside.
Heiferwaith leaned over an endangered Dracun Lizard who was tied up in a highchair. Heiferwaith wore a butcher’s smock splattered with blue goo. He poked the unfortunate Dracun Lizard with a sword, muttering some nonsense about “being from a warrior guild” and “the Dracun’s prize.”
Stan threw a Sculpta brick through the window before consciously deciding to do so.