THE SHORT HOUR S1E5: Lesson Learned

[Pirouette] ”Have you noticed we haven’t been on the episode yet?”

[Reave] ”Dare you insinuate this was through any shortcoming of mine, mortal? It was your failure to pen a saga of japes at the expense of others that has landed us in our present...predicament.”

[Fade in. The dynamic duo are, much like last time, in the DDS offices and not out committing pranks. It would appear that their hard-partying, work-shunning behavior has finally caught up with them, being as they’re relegated to a throwaway segment at the moment. For reasons that are not totally clear at the moment, Tethys Reave is wearing even less than usual. It’s basically a metal codpiece with some string.]

[Pirouette] ”Uhhh, last time I checked, I put together an entire thing, with stuff and...things. You were the one who went hell of indignant and finagled your way out of putting on the rest of the costume.”

[Pirouette, in turn, is glistening. Every visible inch of her, hair included, appears to have been coated with some kind of sparkling cream or paint. She gleams in the fluorescent lighting, various gem facets going haywire with the light as she shifts in place and glares at the drell. Under one arm is a huge bucket, which sparkles even more violently.]

[She is also dressed much more conservatively than Reave, which may provide a vital clue as to which of them came up with this particular scheme.]

[Reave] ”My biology is incompatible with diamond paint. It would result in an allergic reaction, the likes of which would sunder this insignificant bazaar of the perverse and lackadaisical down to its very core.”

[Pirouette] ”Well, the statues in the lobby are diamond-encrusted, my recalcitrant rajul, so even with the codpiece on, you’re only half-convincing.”

[Reave] ”Better half-convinced than wholly enraged by your attempts to sabotage my peak physical condition, bestowed upon me by the gods themselves.”

[Pirouette] ”Did the gods bestow you with anything resembling a sense of showmanship, because you are breaking my theoretical balls here, Reave. Breaking them. Like, into little crushed powdery bits. That Eightball would accidentally snort if I left them all well-meaning on the coffee table. Just a total testicular cataclysm. A testiclysm. I’m totally gonna copyright that word.”

[Reave] ”I find the amount of detail with which you regale your non-existent testimonials to be worrisome.”

[Pirouette] ”DON’T FUCK WITH ME HERE, TETHYS.”

[They were not kidding about having severe mood swings when you mix red sand with aurora.]

[Pirouette] ”I’LL FUCKING CUT YOU, DON’T THINK I WON’T DO IT--”

[?] “Hey, somebody told me there was a Nexus giveaway in here.”

[Unexpectedly entering the office is the batarian voice actor who provides the single greatest source of auditory annoyance in the universe - Netik Conzarniyvurs, galactically infamous for his role as the current Zip on Space Protector(z). The previous Zip, Iloiriet Moczanelle, who had usurped “single greatest source of auditory annoyance in the universe” from the late Jak’Gathi nar Thundercats upon the latter’s demise, passed the title on to Mr. Conzarniyvurs when the audio editing of her voice caused it to reach an ultrasound frequency that only dogs could hear. This would not have been a problem, except that “I Lied, Holmes” co-star Tethys Reave was also on-set to do voice work that day, and the specific frequency of Zip’s voice triggered some kind of primal kill-trigger in Reave’s brain. Six people were killed in the ensuing rampage, and a coffee machine was irreparably damaged in the course of being forcibly inserted into Ms. Moczanelle’s chest cavity.

What we’re trying to get across here is that Netik Conzarniyvurs should be intensely worried about being within ten meters of Tethys Reave.

The promise of a Nexus giveaway, however, appears to have been too much for his sense of self-preservation, because here he is. Pirouette immediately freezes into the most statue-like pose she can think of, which ends up looking sort of like a cross between a discus thrower and a shitting varren.]

[Pirouette] ”Act like I’m a statue.”

[Netik] “Whoa! Wait, are they adding new statues to the lobby?”

[Reave’s eyes narrow into sulfurous slits in his face, and after almost thirty seconds of staring at the batarian and concocting the most elaborately convincing lie he can think of, he replies:]

[Reave] ”Yes.”

[A pause.]

[Netik] “Well, that’s bullshit, man. I mean, I’m the star of Space Protector(z), and you’re already a big holo personality or whatever, and they’re putting a statue of Chloe Beauchesne in the lobby next to Dwick and...”

[Another pause.]

[Netik] “...the other statue of Dwick, and...the third statue of Dwick, and...look, the point is, if anybody deserves to be the first non-Dwick person to get a statue, it shouldn’t be her. What’d she ever--”

[Pirouette] ”MOTHERFUCKER”

[The ‘statue’ lunges at Netik, and is barely held back by a bemused Reave. The batarian, in turn, is nearly frightened out of his wits. A torrent of abuse follows.]

[Pirouette] ”Are you fucking serious ‘what’d I ever do’ you drooling squint what about the time Reave and I singlehandedly brought the episode rating up by like two and a half points or all the nightclubs or what about the time I borrowed that shih tzu from the Emir and dressed it up in a little tuxedo or the time I messed up on my income report so bad I almost got the firing squad? Huh? Huh? I don’t see YOU drawing it hard with your amateur hour puppet show for salarian children! Is that even a demographic? They’re children for like a week! How many credits is that gonna draw? WELL?”

[None of this scathing, semi-coherent, and not-totally-factual rant has any effect on Netik, who is still panting from the terror of seeing a statue leap at him.]

[Netik] “Wha...what the hell?!”

[A pause.]

[Pirouette] ”Oh, right, right, I lied holmes. Anyway, what do you have to say to--”

[Netik] “No no no hold on just a second here. What the hell? You scared the shit out of me!”

[Reave] ”It is a prank segment on the Short Hour. That is our intent.”

[The batarian splutters incoherently for a moment, then stomps his foot in impotent rage.]

[Netik] “What? What if I had a heart condition, and you’d killed me with terror? Would that be ‘a prank segment on the Short Hour’ then? Well? Huh? How about it?”

[Pirouette and Reave glance at each other for a moment.]

[Reave] ”...Almost certainly.”

[Pirouette] ”Yeah, that’s kind of how most of these tend to end. Now that I think on it, I think we’ve got something like a 70% mortality rate. Terrorbyte keeps coming in at four in the morning smelling like malt liquor and doling out well-meaning lectures about liability costs, but fuck him, he’s not my real dad.”

[Reave] ”In truth, I am reasonably certain that had the pathetic lump of flesh pumping blood through your meager excuse for a mortal shell fallen apart on the spot, it would have made this tableaux of laughs and thrills all the laughier and thrillier.”

[Pirouette] ”Neither of those are words.”

[Reave] ”Silence.”

[Pirouette] ”No, but seriously, Nephtys, nobody actually cares. Your big dumb heart is still making your equally big and dumb face talk at us, so quitcherbitchin.”

[As we reach the official bottom of the puerile insult barrel, Netik turns and storms from the office. He stops right at the door, though, quivering with fury, and jabs a shaking finger towards the pair.]

[Netik] “Yooooouuuuu...you disgust me.”

[With that final bon mot delivered, the batarian flounces away.]

[Pirouette] ”...squint says what?”

[Reave] ”Curious.”

[Pirouette] ”Dogg, he was hell of tumescent for heart attacks, and just as bent on implicating us as the cardiac arresting officer. Fuck if I know--”

[187] ”There you are!”

[A second batarian storms into the office. This one is significantly more stressed-looking.]

[187] ”Chloe. What the fuck. What the fuck.”

[Pirouette] ”Did I miss the green room turning into the Khar’shan Shuttle Exchange?”

[187] ”You embezzled fifty thousand credits!”

[Pirouette] ”...did not.”

[187] ”Yes! Yes you did! You requisitioned fifty g’s!”

[Pirouette] ”For a totally legit business expense.”

[187] ”For a legal consultation with the firm of...”

[The near-apoplectic 187 glances at a datapad clutched in one hand.]

[187] ”Razzladazz Washingbeard and Associates.”

[A very long pause.]

[Pirouette] ”...and?”

[187] ”It...that’s a made-up name, Chloe, it doesn’t exist. Exactly how stupid do you think I am?”

[Reave] ”Excellent. Give me a moment.”

[187] ”What?”

[Reave] ”Three years ago, I prepared a written statement in case you ever made such an inquiry of me. Hold on, here it is...”

[Reave produces a scroll from the nearby desk and begins to unfurl it. The bottom end hits the floor, continues rolling, and unwinds all the way out the door of the office.]

[After a moment, the drell clears his throat.]

[Reave] ”As--”



[Reave] ”--and in conclusion, as the exalted hierophants of my age were prone to declaring, if foolishness were a powerful commodity, you would be a grossly corpulent emperor, barely constrained by the tyranny of your girdle, immobile atop a throne of lies and shame.”

[A pause.]

[Pirouette] ”...Several parts of that strained credulity a little. When exactly did you dig up his standardized test scores?”

[Reave] ”My studies were very thorough.”

[The two glance over at 187, only to discover that he is in no position to react. At some point during the speech, he appears to have collapsed to the floor, clutching at his chest. Flecks of spittle foam between his lips as he tries to speak.]

[Pirouette] ”God damn it, Goronak. Come on, if I could sit through that without histrionics, so can you.”

[187] ”...c-call...hosp...arm numb...hggghhhh...”

[Another pause, as they contemplate this development, and then Pirouette sighs.]

[Pirouette] ”Reave, is it just me, or does it feel like the whole heart attack thing’s kinda played out now?”

[Reave] ”The dead horse, in the parlance of your fragile race, has been whipped into little more than carrion froth.”

[Pirouette] ”Yeah, I feel like there’s only so much you can do with ‘oh, what if I had a heart attack, you disgust me’ until it gets less hilarious and more tired. So, uh. You disgust me, 187.”

[Reave] ”Heh, yes. If your intent is to instill panic in our souls, so that you may leap like a grave-spectre and shout ‘I lied, holmes’, then you have failed in it even more thoroughly than you have as a sapient being.”

[Silence.]

[Pirouette] ”Right, okay, you’re gonna method-act it and ride this sinking ship all the way down into the nebula. Fair enough. Reave, to the lobby! We’ve got a segment to film.”

[Reave] ”Excellent. Let all tremble in the wake of our hoaxes.”

[Pirouette] ”But not to the point of heart attacks.”

[Reave] ”...Very well, it was amusing that one last time.”

[They file out of the room and head down to the lobby, camera drone in tow. Fade out.]

That is it. That is the absolute limit.

Not only does this show continuously air filth of the sickest, most moronic sort - not only does it routinely air a broadcast based on that repulsive sorcerer of Kalahira, basest of the gods, and then dress him like a damned Chippendale's dancer - but they have the temerity to completely get heart attacks wrong time after time!

Have you no shame, DDS!? Do you not know what your disinformation could do!? I work as a damned surgeon, you buffoons! I don't need more undereducated, semi-literate patients coming in complaining they had a heart attack just because they saw one on DDS! I've never been so disgusted in my life, you... you goons! You imbeciles! You ignorant back-sliding semi-liter-

Oh.

oh god

nrrrrrrrrrrrrgh by the healer not today

STT: THUMP CRASH TINKLE TINKLE operator call 911

And that's why you fucks need to take a chill pill

Your shit hearts can't take it.

(fucking hilarious though)

Um.

So.

Yeah.

Heart attacks.

I think it's safe to say someone's gonna have to call over an ambulance.

I'd love to say something else but I haven't a clue about how drell hearts work.

Hm.

Yeesh.

Hilarious.

About as good as their lungs is what it looks like

REEEEEEEEEAVE

COOKING WITH CURR!

[The scene fades to that of an average television kitchen suddenly a red vorcha eye peers into the camera once it zooms out it reveals Curr, wearing a chef’s hat.]



[Curr] "THIS IS CURR, YOU WATCH CURR COOK! NOW ON DA SHORT HOUR ON DWICK DWICKCAST SYNDYKYT!"

[A panning shot reveals some of the ingredients, peaches, flour, eggs.]

[Curr] "CURR MAKE PERSONAL FAVORITE, PEACH AND CYANIDE CAKE TATIN! YOU NEED, SIX TABLESPOON BUTTER, THREE FRESH PEACHES, TWO TABLESPOON CYANIDE, THREE IF YOU WANT EXTRA FLAVOR AND KICK, TWO LARGE EGG, ONE THIRD CUP SOUR CREAM, ONE FOURTH TEASPOON LEMON ZEST, HALF TEASPOON VANILLA EXTRACT, 1 CUP AND TWO TABLESPOONS FLOUR, HALF TEASPOON BAKING POWDER, ONE FOURTH TEASPOON SALT, THREE FOURTH GRANULATED SUGAR."

[The ingredients are meticulously placed on the counter one by one, showing deftness you generally don’t see in a vorcha.]

[Curr] "PRE-HEAT OVEN!"

[This is the moment people watching can hear the producers of the show either gasping in terror or grinning widely. Curr opens the oven, grabs a flamethrower from under the desk and uses it on the oven. Black smoke soon bellows out of the thing as the flaming goop sticks to its wall, beginning to burn the heat- but not fire-proof plastics used to keep the grill in place.]

[Curr] "OVEN HEATED ENOUGH! NOW TAKE PEACH CUT AND PLACE IN FIREPROOF BUTTERED DISH!"

[A big clump of butter is splashed into a plasti-glass pie dish then run around until all surfaces are covered with buttered. The peaches – who are quickly cut in irregular slices – are the next thing that are placed inside.]

[Curr] "TAKE SAUCE PAN, FILL WITH WATER A THIRD OF CUP, ADD CUT SUGAR, USE HIGH HEAT MELT SUGAR - SWIRL PAN, DON’T STIR, OR CURR CUT YOU! YOU CAN SWIRL PAN! THEN POUR OVER PEACHES WHEN WATER IS YELLOW! ADD CYANIDE AFTER WATER."

[As expected the saucepan with water and sugar gets a flamethrower treatment, but Curr, true to his word, does not stir the pan, swirling it instead. After the the sugar (and pan) are melted, it’s added into the pie dish. It’s quickly followed by a dash of cyanide.]

[Curr] "SMELLS DELICIOUS! NOW CREAM BUTTER AND REMAINING SUGAR TOGETHER IN IN MIXER UNTIL FLUFFY! FLUFFY! ADD EGGS AND SOUR CREAM, ZEST AND VANILLA! ONCE GOOPY ADD FLOUR BAKING POWDER, SALT AND MORE BUTTER!"

[A large bowl that looks more like an oversized milkshake blender is shown as Curr throws in the ingredients one by one. He’s extra-careful when he cracks the eggs, making sure only the egg ends up in the mixing bowl… only to add the shell moments later. He continues to work through the list as the mixer/blender combines the ingredients in one fluffy mixture. ]

[Curr] "EVERYTHING IN DISH BAKE FOR HALF-A-HOUR, LET REST FOR FIFTEEN!"

[Curr does just that and places the completed dish in the melting oven...then reaches under the counter to show a fully baked one.]

[Curr] "HERE ONE MADE EARLIER… CURR NEED READ DISCLAIMER, DISH LEVO, NON-VORCHA AND KROGAN NOT ADD CYANIDE OR SICK… WEAK HUMANS! WEAK ASARI, CYANIDE IS WHAT GIVE CAKE KICK! THANK WATCHING COOKING WITH CURR!"

[The words "COOKING WITH CURR" are shown as the oven finally explodes. Curr is seen enjoying the pyrotechnics while he eats his cake.]

this true. you people not know what you missing.

skhash has to go make some right now.

Okay, I gotta ask.

What the shrell is the "lesson" that's supposed to be "learned" here?

Dwick, you made my dreams come true. Presidium Hospital is made of awesome.

The merits of Krogan Theater have been vastly underestimated.

And now, a Dwick Life Lesson.

When we had that staring competition, you blinked first.

No. No. I do not want to subscribe to this thread.

No. Computer. Unsubscribe. What do you mean I am the designated victim now. I don't know what that means.

This one... does not think that was a very good life lesson. Especially since this one does not have eyes as non-hanar do.

[VO] “Last time on Staff Swap…”

[Pictured: Assorted violence involving a fish out of H.R. Giger’s nightmares.]

[VO] “Our intrepid kitchen staff has been hard at work assembling one of Southeastern Tuchanka’s more flamboyant dishes: A fried Fangfish filet, served on a bed of blood-marinated death cabbage. We have witnessed our Head Chef working excitedly on this project—”

[Pictured: Repeatedly bashing a vice-jawed fish into a wall.]

[VO] “—to the point of making an important last-minute substitution—“



[DWICK] "RAUUUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHH--

[VO] “—but now comes the moment of truth. As our waiter comes though the door, armed with the head chef’s creation—“

[A bloodied Dwick grins as he holds the door open with his wounded arm. Flesh has been stripped off from the oil, and there are several puncture wounds around it…but at the very least, it’s stopped bleeding.

Dwick’s eyes are ever so slightly manic.]

[VO] “It is time to see what our critic has to say.”

[The volus steps forward, visibly wincing as he steps around the mangled arm, and marches up to Harnestine, marching up a small portable staircase before bowing and placing the tray before her. He lifts the cover, revealing…



…something not at all like Dwick’s usual hideous brew.

A sudden set of flashbacks explains the baffling change in presentation:

The sous chef staring, wide-eyed at a vomit-inducing dish, his right eye twitching as his arm goes to his chest,

The salarian pulling out a paring knife and lifting the fried monstrosity from its plate,

Creatively cutting apart the vegetation, placing each daintily on a new dish,

Re-seasoning the undergrowth,

Carefully shaving the breading off,

Seasoning,

Seasoning, and

Seasoning.

The flashbacks end with the salarian breathing hard as he looks from the kitchen door porthole, completely oblivious to the fact that Dwick is doing the same right next to him.]

[DWICK] “Total masterpiece. Heh.”

[The salarian’s face twitches. Cut back to Harnestine, who daintily pushes a piece of filet around with her fork.]

[HARNESTINE] “Well, I have to say, I’m a little unimpressed with the presentation. It feels a little…manufactured, I suppose? Like there was something that had real heart, and was rearranged at the last minute out of shame or something.”

[There is an audible crack as the sous chef’s face twitches.]

[HARNESTINE] “As for the taste, well…”

[She peels a piece of fish off the filet with her fork, which, thankfully, flakes off as it should. Spearing a piece of the salad, she puts it into her mouth, withdraws the fork, and chews.

There is a pause. The music volume increases. The camera zooms in on Harnestine’s eye.

And the sous chef’s worst fears come to life as she starts screaming.

Harnestine’s eyes bug out. She thrashes about, grabbing her throat, clearly trying to retch – but her mouth has locked shut and will not open. She screams silently, her face a rictus of agony…and then she slams her head on the table, unconscious and unbreathing.]

[SOUS CHEF] “Holy shit---”

[The sous chef tries to bolt, but Dwick grabs him by the throat with his injured arm.]

[DWICK] ”WAIT!”

[Bending in, he points at the unconscious food critic, then gives a countdown with his free hand. Three…two…one…

And on “one,” the asari springs back up and screeches so loudly the camera’s lens breaks.]

[HARNESTINE] “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA oh hey this is really good.”

[Cut to Dwick, who’s grinning like the cat that just ate the canary. Rubbing his chin with his injured hand, he pulls up his omnitool and rings up Terrorbyte.]

[DWICK] “Hey. Ballsack. Call it in.”

[TERROBYTE] "BALLSACK?! BALLSACK?! *hssssk* Why, you bloated, shitbreathing sack of--

[Cut back to Harnestine, who (now that she’s breathing again) is suddenly raving over the dish.]

[HARNESTINE] “…I mean, sure when I had my first bite and my mouth went numb, sure, I panicked a bit, but when that explosion of flavor came in, it knocked me off my feet, and it was so amazing, and the texture was perfect, and—hang on, I have to try another bite of this—”

[As Harnestine goes for another bite of the fangfish, however, there’s a sudden explosion of sound and light, and the entire room is covered in confetti. Harnestine gives a loud yelp and dives under the table, but is greeted by a second camera – as well as a massive pair of feet.

Above the table, Dwick raises both hands to the air and slams them on the table, bending as far as his massive gut will allow him to leer at the asari under the table.]

[DWICK] “SURPRISED! You’ve been STAFF-SWAPPED!”

[A parade of figures (most notably Pirouette and Tethys Reave) come parading through the restaurant’s entrance, forming an impromptu conga line in front of the table. Eightball descends from above, suspended by a mass effect bubble, playing guitar, and Terrorbyte runs into the scene, inexplicably holding what looks like Bob Barker’s microphone, and stuffs it in the food critic’s face.]

[TERRORBYTE] “Hey! HEY! Harnestine Jaboci, you’ve just *hsssk* been the victim of a STAFF SWAP! What do YOU want to say to the fans out there?”

[Hernestine looks like she’s about to have a heart attack. Still perched under the table, she raises a trembling finger and points it to the tabletop.]

[HERNESTINE] “…Could…could I get that…to go?”

[There’s a roar from the crowd, which begins dancing to “victorious” party music. This gets cut off prematurely, however, as the sous chef throws Harnestine’s wine glass on the ground.

The whole crowd turns once more to watch him as he tears off his apron and throws it at Harnestine’s feet. He bends over, gives her a disgusted look, and gets right in her face.]

[SOUS CHEF] “You disgust me.”

[He then stomps out of the restaurant.

There’s a beat of silence. Then Dwick clears his throat.]

[DWICK] “Soooo, uh. WHO WANTS FANGFISH?”

[There’s a cheer, and everyone starts dancing again, with the credits rolling over the scene. End of episode.]

Sous chef's being too hard on himself, really he should be proud he managed to make...whatever that was somewhat edible and pleasing to the eye.

Who subscribed to this garbage. I sure as hell didn't.

See?

Krogan cooking is supreme.