The big albino ape-lady walked between the empty tables, stopping here and there to look back at the stage, snap her fingers and clap, listening for the 'room'. The Blonde Plutoz slipped through the main doors.
"Hey Truck, you'll never guess what happened," Zana said.
"My darlin', then I simply must," Truck said, turning. She shot them a beady eye over her red-tinted shades. "Let's see. We got the dates wrong, this ain't the Grand Galactica in the first place, we're not even in Toss Vague-Ass at all, and you've sold the Star Bucket as scrap metal. But somehow we's gonna gig anyway, 'cause it's what we do."
"The hotel manager's dead," Rivqua said.
"My condolences."
"It wasn't pretty."
"It's a tough business, what can I say."
"Speaking of business, how are we doing?" Zana asked. "What do you think of the ballroom? Fancy venue, huh?"
The tall she-Kong from the Planet of the Abominable Snowmen looked around.
"Not bad, I s'pose. It'll have to do, won't it? Can't have everythin', can I?"
"What's with the undecided approach?" Rivqua wondered.
"Not sure where to put the sound desk. The place is covered in tables and chairs."
"That's because everyone sits and eats and drinks while we play their socks off. It's a hotel. We're in the land of cocktail dresses and smoking jackets, brass polish and skin wax. It's Toss Vague-Ass, girl! Besides, we're using the house system."
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