“Get rid of that blinding bus brigade, will you?” the awakened King orders the bus driver, staggering down the aisles, and in less time than it takes for the bus driver to blink his eyes, the darkness comes back with only a couple of light bulbs in the bus shedding some brightness over them.

“You look sick,” the Captain tells the King.

“I am sick,” the King insists as he vomits outside a window, “all that rum on your demanding Princess, then in the phone box and then to finish it all, that swinging with that God Damned monkey,” he says, “don’t you dare touch me, I’m a King.”

“Your stench is your strongest weapon,” Labaguette retorts, “the Captain’s a wimp at heart, and as smells have it,—“

But the Captain has got Labaguette by the throat once more“—you’re chicken meat, do you hear me?  Mere chicken meat and that’s all you’ll ever be.  I’m a brave and courageous Captain and your Master and think, just think, you’ll never have a better Master at that.  Apologise you fucking bird of hopelessness and desolation or you’ll end as me genetically modified chicken casserole tonight!”

There’s a ruffled feathered parrot flying in a bus that has rammed into a ship on a busy road of the Universe.  Labaguette is flying low and his feathers have turn into a shade of grey, temporarily.  He’s apologised.

To be continued…


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