Introduction

[grimgrinningghosts]

[You wake up in a bed.

A rather comfy bed, but as you open your eyes, you realize that this room is not one you’ve ever been in before. And even the most villainous of you should notice that something is immediately very off by how morbid your room looks. While generally clean, it looked dark and like it was a part of a very old house.

And that “Rest in Peace” throw pillow really isn’t doing the room any favors.

Meanwhile, on the dresser on top of your new notebook, there is also a message:]

When the clock strikes 13 o’clock. You must all meet in the stretching room for a special announcement.

[Well, it would be rude to refuse an invitation, right?

As soon as you leave your room, you notice a stark difference between the bedroom and the rest of the building. It looked like it hadn’t been kept up in ages, and it shows with how everything is caked in dust or covered in cobwebs. But judging by the other bedroom doors, possibly with other people peering out at the same time you, at least you’re not alone in this strange situation.

As you explore the rest of the first floor of the mansion, you’ll come to realize that, besides the bedrooms, the whole place is rather decrepit and dimly lit. While all rooms may provide a great interest in you, the the bios of all your foolish mortals might be useful to you, especially if you enjoy finding out how much your new captor has learned about you.]

Comments

[sixfingeredstan]

[Ford wakes up with a stiff neck and surrounded not by a dinghy's cabin with his twin brother snoring at his side. but by a dimly-lit bedroom that he knows he's never woken up in before. He shoots upward out of bed, groans at the pain in his neck, and clambers to his feet, staring around at his surroundings. Anyone in the rooms near his will hear a grumpy old man's voice shouting through the walls:]

What in blue blazes—?

[He inspects his surroundings for a moment—the decor is really more macabre than he's comfortable with, but at least it seems clean. The note atop the dresser draws a squint from behind the crack in his glasses. Thirteen o' clock isn't even a real time. Clearly, someone has a sense of humor. Bill—?

No, that's impossible. Bill was destroyed. Bill is gone.

Ford pokes his head out of the door, and the rest of him quickly follows, the notebook tucked away in the inner pocket of his coat.]

What sort of cheap, tasteless Halloween buffoonery is this?

[amadeusrockette]

Halloween? [Julia tilts her head toward this old man other person in the hallway. What the fuck is he going on about.] What's so "Halloween" about it?

[sixfingeredstan]

[Look, it's okay. He's an old man. You can say it.

Ford turns impatiently to the girl who's clearly questioning his powers of observation, and lifts a six-fingered hand to the ceiling in demonstration.]

Oh, come on. Fake cobwebs? Plastic candelabrum? I'm sure there are some very convincing plastic spiders hanging every few feet, too. This whole place reeks of a cheesy funhouse. Like I said, tasteless. [He sniffs. Clearly his sensibilities have been offended.]

[amadeusrockette]

It's an old Gothic manor, sir. [There's a hint of "are you ok" in Julia's voice. She's kind of concerned about this old man. Is he ok?] They're usually better kept than this, but I don't see what makes it so unbelievable.

[Because that's totally what "Halloween" means, right?]

[sixfingeredstan]

Hmm. Architecture was never my forte. I always tended toward more intellectual pursuits. [He sniffs. Architecture majors were always assholes.] It isn't that I don't believe it, young lady. It's that I don't buy for a moment that any of this is legitimate. It's clearly a front for some criminal organization, Scooby-Doo style.

[amadeusrockette]

If it's a front for criminal activity, then why are we here? [. . .] Are you a criminal?

[That's the only reasonable conclusion here. If he's so knowledgeable about criminal activity, the old man must be a criminal.]

[sixfingeredstan]

Your guess is as good as mine. [He glances down at her like she's just said that pigs could fly or the moon was made of cheese. Theories that Ford Pines has disproven multiple times.]

Don't be ridiculous. I'm a scientist. I've been dragged into this nonsense the same as you have.

[amadeusrockette]

[That's not reassuring. He could be a scientist criminal.]

But what would anyone want with a scientist and a pianist?

[sixfingeredstan]

[To that, Ford can only shrug.] Again, I have no idea. I can only make an educated guess and say that perhaps someone wants us for our talents.

[Why they would need a pianist is beyond his comprehension, but...]

[strangerslikeme]

...Buffoonery.

[okay, so jane isn't here. but there's another man here, with some sort of strange eyewear. tarzan is gonna get real close for a look.]

[sixfingeredstan]

Exactly! Buffoonery.

[Ford glances over at this person who clearly also knows what's going on, and blinks several times. Okay. Okay, no personal space for this...gentleman.]

Hello, can...can I help you?

[strangerslikeme]

Buffoonery!

[He's gonna try and nab those glasses now, Ford. It's fine.]

[sixfingeredstan]

...Right.

[Okay, so this...monkey man clearly doesn't English too well. Ford blinks a few more times, and then swats at the hand reaching for his glasses a moment too late.]

No—okay, I need those to see, please return them!

[strangerslikeme]

[NO IT'S OKAY he's trying them on himself, that's a real neato crack you've got on em]

Them? Return them!

[sixfingeredstan]

[Okay no see, he NEEDS those. Right now there are two of you, strange jungle man. That is one too many. Ford makes a clumsy grab for his glasses.]

Please–just—give them back!

[strangerslikeme]

Them!

[wow. this is not nice. it's all blurry and...ech. tarzan will let ford have them back.]

Them back.

[sixfingeredstan]

[OH THANK GOD

Ford snatches his glasses and settles them firmly back on his own face.]

Yes. Thank you for giving them back.

[He enunciates this like he's speaking to a toddler. Or a feral human.]

[thetimebomb]

[At least she's in agreement of that. Hi Ford here's an alien.]

Tasteless is right. Whoever kidnapped us has really lame ideas on what villainy is. What do you think are the odds do you think that they ran out of time so they decided to raid the clearance aisle of a Halloween store?

[Sure Space Halloween exists, why not.]

[sixfingeredstan]

[Ford turns around, and is immediately fascinated by the sight of the other person talking to him. Mostly because she's not a person at all, but rather some sort of alien...horse? Whatever she is, Ford's face lights up like a Christmas tree.]

Yes, yes, that's quite likely...pardon my asking, but exactly what are you?

[thetimebomb]

[Uuuugh is this her life now? She feels like this is her life now.]

A Zbornak. Sylvia, if you care who I am.

[sixfingeredstan]

A Zbornak.

[Ford scribbles something down in his notebook, which appears to have several pages filled already, and then gives Sylvia a sheepish little smile.]

Pardon me, that should have been my first question! It's very nice to meet you, Sylvia. I'm Ford.

[thetimebomb]

[She blinks, actually surprised by that response.]

Nice to meet you too.

[... Although that notebook raises questions.]

Alright, what are you writing about me?

[It better be nothing rude.]

[sixfingeredstan]

[Ford doesn't seem to notice any concern on her part; he waves his hands.]

Just some notes and observations. I'm a man of science. I've never met a Zbornak in all my travels, though. [A pause.] Could you spell that?

[thetimebomb]

Z-b-o-r-n-a-k

[Note to self: try sneaking a look at Ford's notes at some point.]

I'm not exactly from your "Earth". I would have been surprised if you had run into someone like me.

[sixfingeredstan]

As in 'Dorothy,' right.

[He's muttering this to himself, not really to Sylvia, as he corrects his spelling.

He chuckles.]

Oh! Well, I've traveled to many dimensions and met many an alien species, so it's more surprising than you'd think.