“As sure as me grand-dad was a Tyrannosaurus Rex,” Labaguette continues.
“You’re closer to the truth than you think!” the Captain says.
“Oh forget your nerdy-brain-fucked-library for once,” Labaguette continues, “the Commander has lost the plot and you know it as much as I do.”
“Suppose,” the King continues, “that Belchiore’s stomach juices couldn’t purée you to the desired consistency, how do you explain the explosion and her disappearance?”
“She’s not fully gone,” the Commander answers, “her spirit remains. She will be re-born once I’m gone for good, when an uncomplicated someone with the right frame of mind and heart is able to rid all Universes of my existence at all levels, be it as a living creature, a speck of dust or a mere floating thought.”
“Are you a Buddhist?” the Captain asks.
“Captain,” Labaguette retorts, “buddhist don’t linger in dirty green cocoons, nor do hang upside down as a means to levitate.”
“You don’t hold the Rope’s secret, else you’d already be the master of all Universes,” the King retorts, seemingly in the know.
“It’s complicated,” the Commander continues.
“Let’s begin by the beginning,” the Captain insists, “what’s your interest in us unravelling you out of your cocoon and letting you free to roam the skies in whatever shape you may wish to take if all you’re going to do is to take control of everything?”
“I can’t possibly take control.”
“You don’t have the monkeys’ best interest at heart, so why?”
“Spinostress will find me here if you don’t release me.”
“She doesn’t know you hold the secret to—“
“—She does now.”
“The whale’s ripple effect, that’s what,” an enlightened Labaguette says, “you came out in a cocoon covered in disabling slime and juices which disabled your thought control.”
To be continued…