PRAT came into Improbable Central this past Halloween…
It escalated to violence…

Costumed Zefrieus grins like up at Marly like a sunbeam through a shitstorm. Best friends.
Marly's pant leg is currently gathering snot and puke. This can only be considered a development, as she is not entirely sure what that blue smudge on the other knee is from. Either way, she's… not going to keep wearing these pants for long.
Marly wonders if she knows of a good bonfire somewhere. Perhaps she can start one. Those don't take long to get going, right? And she could get this mess all cleaned up before the fire department makes it over with a bucket and axe.
Marly wonders briefly how long the statute of limitations on arson is. “Hello,” she says.


Costumed Zefrieus says “Tricky treat. Oi loiked the part where oi punched 'im an' candy came aout.” She considers. “The fluffy pink koind, not the spewin' part.”
Costumed Zefrieus brightens. “You wanna come an' frow eggs at peopo?”
Marly stifles a polite cough. “Yes, well, assault and battery is all fun and games until the witnesses speak up and you're bribing a judge so you don't make new roommates named Chuck I'm sorry, did you just offer to throw eggs?”
Costumed Zefrieus gestures towards the egg cartons that her Cat dropped by her feet, earlier (along with more candies and rolls of toilet paper). Presumably, the cartons are full of eggs. It is Halloween, after all.


Marly blinks down at her, reminding herself that this Midget has an intelligent cat, just spent a good amount of time assaulting and robbing a passerby, and is currently getting sick all over her pants. And seems to think highly over her.
Marly decides that perhaps she doesn't wish to risk altering that last one. On the other hand, the masses must be educated, and she is a Joker. “You know where eggs come from, right?”
Costumed Zefrieus answers promptly. “Joe's Dyna!”
Marly concedes, mentally, that her response might be even more repugnant than her original answer. “Well, that's certainly where one can liberate them from squalor. But there's more to it.”
Costumed Zefrieus nods expertly. “Yeh. 'Ee keeps 'im on a high shelf, so you gotta be quick afore it crashes down evverwhere.”
Marly nods. “And the eggs come down a pipe that connects to a little house on the roof of the diner. And in that little house, there's a nervous, chain-smoking, multi-colored rabbit.”
Costumed Zefrieus's eyes widen credulously.
Marly nods the nod of Trust Me, I'm a Responsible Adult. “He rocks back and forth, muttering to himself about fiber and production rates. Easter is always coming, and the difference between Western and Orthodox really throws his timetables off.”
Marly tries to continue looking responsible as she says, “Then, every night at midnight, when the Great Server Changes Over, he strains, lets out a low moan, and the eggs clatter through the pipe and into the diner. True story.”
Costumed Zefrieus huh's. Seems reasonable, and after all Marly was earlier proven right that robots like Jack are full of candy. It seems odd that Marly would rather discuss egg origins than actually wanting to egg things. “Roight then. So. …you wanna frow 'em?”
Marly gives her a poorly disguised look of disgust. “I'm not throwing around the Easter Bunny's hard work around! I'm gonna get coal in my stocking if I do that, and my New Year's Resolution won't come true!”
Costumed Zefrieus is admittedly fuzzy on holiday traditions. Usually, the network just dresses her up to improve ratings and dubs in the music later. Sometimes Zef, makes good recker lighting a funny little step-candle-thing in the wintertime.


Marly hesitates a moment. “You… you haven't been throwing them at people, have you?”
Costumed Zefrieus looks around, sidelike. “We-yull, not this year. Not yet. But c'mon, it makes dis real good crack an' squish.”
Marly tsks. “Well, that's good, I guess. I mean, you don't want to see what happens to people who throw eggs at people. There's only one thing you can do if you have thrown eggs.”
Costumed Zefrieus's eyes widen again. She's hooked.
Costumed Zefrieus's Cat silently hopes that the one thing you can do is to have a dang shower. He's not sleeping next to that puke-soaked Midget. But, unfortunately, cats cannot talk, so he merely waits to see what Marly is concocting.
Marly shifts her hand, taking the space of a breath to wipe the slime of vomit onto Zefrieus's shoulder as she leans it to whisper, “You have to dress up as a turkey and dance around a pole on the first day of spring.”
Costumed Zefrieus sniggers. “Cor! A turkey?! Oi'd ate ter be the feller whot 'adda to that!”
Marly tries to look Wise as she says, “Used to be you had to swim the channel, although I always thought you surfed those. Tradition is funny like that. In the meantime, um… you so-and-so, changing into clean clothes would be a good idea.”
Costumed Zefrieus says “Cloves? Oh, yeh, the Failors got my reg'lar neggle-jee, fer when Tricky Treat's finished. An' the Chairman can git rid of 'is eyepatch an' hat, can't 'ee.”
Costumed Zefrieus says “–oh! We bin yappin an 'iss almos finished! I'se got a whole jungle ter cover in T.P.!”


Costumed Zefrieus hastily collects her rolls of improbably strong toilet paper and readies for a dash into the Jungle. Don't worry. I'm sure it will biodegrade into something horrible.
Marly will be suitably horrified later. In the meantime, she waves a weak goodbye, then throws modesty and pants to the winds. Particularly downwind.
Marly stands there in her stockings for a moment before making her way off to get herself a new dress.
Costumed Zefrieus gives the familiar Midget Salute as she and her longsuffering Cat dash off, ready to continue their quest for more candy and/or destruction. It really is a terrific holiday.

Later, Misery Guts is cursing under his breath. Just his luck, he looked away from the video feeds when this all happened. His chair creaks as he leans forward, peering at the screen as he fast-forwards and rewinds the footage. “There she is and then.”
Misery frowns. There she is, fully clothed. Then, she stands and the screen fuzzes over. In the next frame, some poor sod is stumbling out of the PSK. No Marly, no confirmation of dots. How Improbable. . “Jokers. Diddling up the tapes again.”
The man mutters in frustration, licking his lips as he gives up and starts flipping through camera feeds. He hums to himself, a song punctuated by little moans and a creaking chair. A nearby contestant backs away from Misery's end of the Comms Tent.