“I’m no key master nor related to your white sheep,” the creature reiterates.
“We’ve no rubbish bags here,” Birdseye says.
“We’re on our way back to earth,” the Captain adds.
“My bag here has captured particles of a self-regenerating liquid which has damaged it. It’s leaking. You fix it.”
“What makes you think we have such liquid aboard this ship?”
“I was passing by underneath your ship when one of you threw it overboard.”
“You’re from around here?”
“It is my duty to investigate any unknown and unidentified objects flying through these skies.”
“In case of junk.”
“You own these skies?”
“I protect them.”
“Are there limits?”
“How far do you travel?”
“As far as my bag takes me.”
“Within these skies.”
“And those skies beyond skies.”
“Look, CollectOrus, we don’t have bags here. We’re pirates, we pillage, we drink and we pillage some more. Pass your way.”
“This bird ain’t no pirate and this plant man may be adequately mad but he’s no drinker.”
“SWORDS OUT!” Captain Traumatic attempts. Upon which, CollectOrus throws his rubbish bag into the air attached to a string he holds in his hand. The bag deploys and with a single pull from the Collector falls onto the Captain, Birdseye and Chloroph, entrapping them under the curious eye of the Monkeys.
“Try shredding my bag with your sword now, Captain!” the Collector says, “and—”
“HOLLY SHIT!” they can all hear the Captain yell, “YOU DIRTY FINGERED TWIRP!”
“You were warned,” CollectOrus says.
To be continued…