Amnesia

The following takes place following: Out Of Turn

Master Devlin leads a confused Travers down a white corridor and into Mayuri’s room. She’s wide awake. The moment she sees them, she gasps, pulls the sheets up over her face and starts shaking like a terrified rabbit.

A doctor enters.

Doctor: You must be Master Devlin. And Mr. Travers? I was hoping to speak with you before you saw Mrs. Travers. I'm Dr. Gadd.

Mayuri suddenly starts pointing at Master Devlin, eyes wild.

Mayuri: Yajū. Yajū!

Travers: Master Devlin, what’s wrong with my wife? She’s not making any sense! She’s speaking some other language—Chinese or something...

A voice calls from the doorway.

Man: Actuaree it is a Japanese.

A small Asian man steps into the room.

Doctor: Gentlemen, this is Yokoshima-san. He’s a translator here to assist us.

Yokoshima approaches Mayuri and speaks to her gently. She answers in a strange, eerie calm.

Yokoshima: All green of skin... 700 centuries ago, their bodily fluids gave birth to half-breeds. For the fundamental truth of self-determination in the cosmos... for dark is the suede that mows like a harvest.

Travers: What the hell does that mean?

Master Devlin: She doesn’t seem to recognize us.

Doctor: She woke up this morning, clutching yesterday’s newspaper. I suspect possible amnesia.

Travers: You mean she's forgotten who we are?

Doctor: It would appear so.

Travers: That doesn’t explain why she’s speaking Japanese.

Master Devlin: Maybe because she is Japanese, you idiot.

Travers: Oh. Right. Okay.

Travers: Hello, Mayuri... Light of my life. I’m so relieved you’re awake.

Mayuri: Yōkai!

She giggles.

Yokoshima and Mayuri exchange a few lines in Japanese. She giggles again and shakes her head.

Yokoshima: She insists she isn't married. Has never been married. Says she's 17, from the Little Akiba district. An exchange student from Tokyo. Claims she’s never seen this green man with the small furry animal on his lip before. Or the large beast. Now she’s saying something about time travelling bananas.

Doctor: Our records here say she's 28... So she's apparently got an 11 year gap in memory. That combined with the newspaper... Classic amnesia.

Master Devlin: Oh dear... This is unfortunate. Doctor, how long till she regains her memory?

Doctor: I really couldn't say. Until today, I didn't even think amnesia was real. I thought it was just a plot device by hack writers.

Master Devlin: I see... Doctor Gadd was it? Where is Dr. Crusher? The doctor who was treating her before?

Doctor: Oh, she's not with this hospital anymore. She was let go.

Master Devlin: Why?

Doctor: Not a good fit... I can't really say any more than that. WHS policy. You understand...

Master Devlin: Right. Well. Thank you doctor.

Dr. Gadd leaves the room.

Master Devlin: A word Travers...

They step out into the hallway.

Travers: You have to fix her, Master Devlin. Try giving her a fright or something! Make her drink out of the wrong side of the glass! Master Devlin: I don't think that'll work.

Travers: But I need my oil changes! Especially with Ermintrude right there tempting me with her presence at the office. I want to be faithful to my wife. But this is too much... Amnesia! Bah!

Master Devlin: Have you ever thought about living a single life?

Travers: No way! I can't change my own oil—believe me, I've tried. Never mind the absence of boobage!

Master Devlin: Well the way I see it, your wife has no memory. You are a renowned sex pest. So you could live a life of sleaze again, with no real consequences.

Travers: So what you're saying is I have your blessing in creeping on Ermintrude?

Master Devlin: Umm no not quite.

Travers: Why not?

Master Devlin: Not a good idea. That's Waldo's fiancée – and you already stole his wife.

Travers: Poppycock. He's never around.

Master Devlin: I have another idea. Have you ever visited the Waldonian red light district? It's not far. Just a couple of blocks south of here.

Travers: Have I visited... Son, I used to live there! In fact I opened my first office there. I made no profit—couldn't help myself. Like a gambling addict living above a casino. But I've lived that life... I wanted a wife and I had one. Now fix her.

Master Devlin: Well I can't, so you'll just have to satisfy your needs elsewhere. This is the best I can offer. So, shall we go?

Travers: Where?

Master Devlin: Titties, Travers... Titties.

Travers: Oh... Well, when you put it like that... Say no more! Lead the way.

****

Several hours later:

Travers and Devlin spill out of a seedy strip club called Whispers. The Master is starting to look like Frakes, having gorged at the buffet, and Travers is severely dehydrated. His moustache is upside down, resembling a smile, and his trousers are like glass.

Master Devlin: Good lord, man, I can smell that from here. Well, do you think you’ve got it all out your system for now?

Travers: Not really. I wanna go again! We need more funds...

Master Devlin: This was just a bit of temporary release. We can’t be fuelling your addiction.

The Master corrects Travers' moustache.

Master Devlin: Let’s go home. I need to take a massive dump.

****

Back at his council quarters, the Master relieves himself of the extra weight and now appears back to normal.

Travers is sitting by the window reading a copy of the Waldopolis Chronicle.

Master Devlin: I feel better... So, Travers, what to do now...?

Travers: Back to the strip club?

Master Devlin: No... We have important things to deal with first.

Travers: Fine... Um... Well I suppose there’s the tax fine issue... the treasure... the amnesia problem. And of course, there's still a homicidal transwoman and a curly French goblin running around.

Master Devlin: Yes, there are many subplots this season. Well, we should probably go to find that grave first to get the treasure... Perhaps we can find the location at the national archives.

Travers: I got a better idea... How would you feel about taking a dump in a paper bag, and setting it on fire at the new DA’s doorstep?

Master Devlin: I wouldn’t recommend this. My dumps would overfill the bag, not to mention quite flammable and volatile. May as well bomb his front door.

Travers: Even better! Let’s do that.

Master Devlin: Focus, Travers... The grave...

Travers: Alright, fine. Forget the bomb... Let’s just stick with the original plan. We shit on his doorstep, set him on fire, then we head to Helga’s House of Pain... and if there’s time, the grave.

Master Devlin: What’s wrong with you?

Travers: What’s wrong with you, flatfoot? You are out of turn, Sssssir.

Master Devlin: We don’t have time for this... Right, fine!

The Master becomes impatient, marches over and rips off Travers’ moustache.

Master Devlin: Waldo, where is Daniella DuBois Devlin’s grave?

wF: 😵‍💫 Wha?? Banana boat? Na mang, Notinna car nooo...

Master Devlin: CUBAN WALDO?? What are you doing here??

wF: I taught I tolya a telliim, jou was in a sanitarium, mang...

The Master smacks the moustache back on him, triggering Travers momentarily, before removing it again like hitting the power button on a computer.

Master Devlin: Snap out of it, Waldo!

wF: Wuh? Oh... Hi, masta! What’re you doing here?

Master Devlin: Daniella DuBois Devlin’s grave. Where is it??

wF: Ah, finally want to pay respects to your dear old mother, eh?

Master Devlin: ...Sure.

wF: Capital! Well then, your mother’s grave is in the Council cemetery! We had her exhumed and moved to council grounds. It seemed more appropriate.

Master Devlin: Thanks, Waldo.

The Master slaps the moustache back on.

Travers: Hey, who turned out the lights?! Oh... Madam Secretary, it’s you...

Master Devlin: What??

Travers: No, Madam Secretary. It is you who is speaking out of hand. It is I, Mister Danvers, who has the floor. It is my turn to spek... Now I suggest you cram it. This is what four years of clown college education gets you, I suppose.

Master Devlin: What’s wrong with you, Travers?

Travers: You heard, flatfoot! Ssssabarasura... Hey, jou wanna come have some ice cream, with my dragn an’ me?

Travers then gives the Master a familiar, creepy look... A strange, crazed glint in his eye. A maddened smirk. Suddenly he attempts to stab the Master in the gut with an empty fist.

The Master gives Travers a deathly stare in return. Then punches him, knocking him to the floor. Travers is unconscious. The moustache falls off him and onto the ground.

Suddenly the eyes open. The smirk reappears.

wF: Hello! It’s me! Wiffuhuh!

Master Devlin: Good lord... Waldo!

wF: Dat’s right! Wiffuhuh in the house, no doubt!

Master Devlin: Hrrmm... Oh, well... Butter?

wF: No!

Master Devlin: Why not?

wF: It’s dirty!

Master Devlin: It’s Lurpak.

wF: You’ll have spoiled it... Or rather... soiled it...

Master Devlin: How do you know, you accuser?

wF: Shut up! 🙃

Master Devlin: EXCUSE ME, WIDDLE FRUNKUT?

wF: You’re excused! So... who do we kill for fun around here?

Master Devlin: No more killing.

wF: I’m trying to enslave you, motherfucker! Oh sir... there’s just one more thing. I’m sorry to bother you with this. Something that keeps on bothering me about this case...

Master Devlin: What is wrong with you? Here, have some medicine. You’re not well.

wF: We don’t need your fancy potions, you wicked witch. I’m on a mission!

Master Devlin What is wrong with you, Waldo? You’re being weirder than usual. Are you faulty? Run a scan...

wF: Checking... Running scan... Scanning... Scanning... There appears to be a malfunction in the positronic neural new matrix. Attempting to repair...

Smoke comes out Waldo’s ears. And an error message comes up on Waldo’s eyes:

Waldo OS: “There appears to be damage to the system. Attempting repairs... In future, please safely uninstall the moustache before removing it. Failure to do so could corrupt the system. The system will now restart... Waldo OS version 7.11 is now available. Would you like a free upgrade?”

Master Devlin: Umm... yes.

The Master mashes his palm on Waldo’s face.

Waldo OS: Initializing... ...Sorry! This system does not meet the necessary requirements to upgrade... Rebooting... CRITICAL ERROR. Waldo.exe has stopped working. Please consult the manufacturer.

Master Devlin: Oh dear...

The Master hears a slow clap and turns to find Ed has entered his room.

Ed: Nice work, love... You succeeded in breaking both of them with your reckless and excessive moustache-switching shenanigans.

Master Devlin: (sighs) Oh well...

The Master casually tosses the goblin in the bin.

Ed: Well congratulations, I suppose. You’re carrying the whole show now...

Master Devlin: Really? All mine?

Ed: Yep... So what now, jackass?

Master Devlin: Time to make some changes around here...

Ed: Hold up... You are now the lead star. Not the showrunner.

Master Devlin: Oh...

Ed: Well, you’ll need a new sidekick. How about Frakes?

Master Devlin: I don’t want to team up with Frakes. He’s become disgusting and weird. He can’t even walk anymore.

Ed: Yes, well, that wasn’t my doing... It was the other one... How about Tess? Released into the Master’s custody like 48 Hours... Or Mr. Boothe, perhaps?

Master Devlin: To be honest, I don’t want Waldo to be gone... We were going to find gold for Travers.

Ed: Fine. Whatever. You can have him back. Just be more careful in the future. You'll have to fix him though.

Master Devlin: ...Fine.

****

The Master digs Waldo out of the trash and pops the Travers moustache back on, then carries his carcass to the nearest strip club, Wiggler’s Delight in Waldford Heights. He speaks to the manager.

Master Devlin: Good evening. Would you have your finest ladies grind on this shrivelled green man? I understand he looks a little... dead. But I think that would make him feel better.

Manager: Sure thing... Destiny! Chantelle! Get yer fine asses over here! Gotta customer. Some kinda sick vegetable needs a good time.

Two attractive American women, one Black and the other white, approach.

Destiny: Oh my goodness! The poor thing.

Master Devlin: He’s a little under the weather.

Chantelle: Don’t worry, hun. We’ll put the spring back in his step...

Chantelle picks up Travers and cradles him in her busty bosom.

Chantelle: Damn, Charles, this ain’t no vegetable... This be a fine-ass huhwite goblin of good character... Look at that moustache... Ooooh, white boi, you so sexy... Come on, sugar, let’s go have some fun...

The Master hands them each a large stack of cash, enough for a lot of lap dances. Destiny and Chantelle take Travers to the VIP room.

Manager: How about you, big fella? You wanna dance?

Master Devlin: Umm, no thank you. I’ll go for the breakfast buffet. I’ll be over there while the girls work on him.

There’s weird grinding noises coming from the VIP room. Sparks flying out the door. It sounds like a car workshop. Then what sounds like a pneumatic drill.

Master Devlin: What is happening in there?

The Master goes to investigate.

Manager: It’s a private dance. I’m afraid you can’t go in there!

Master Devlin: With power tools?

Manager: I don’t know. Maybe. We respect the privacy of all clientele, and this is a judgement-free zone, sir. You said you wanted your friend to get the works.

The Master’s face contorts with a look of disgust as the weird mechanical grinding and screeching continues, before returning his attention to the buffet.

A few hours later, Travers appears being led by Destiny and Chantelle, holding each of his hands like a child. He has a big smile on his face.

The Master keeps eating.

Destiny: Here we are! Good as new. I’m studying to be a doctor, y’know.

Master Devlin: Ah, Travers, my boy. Welcome back. Very good. Did he make a mess?

Travers: 😃

Chantelle: Shhheeeeiiit. White boi let out all kinds of fluids. Clarence is in the back mopping up.

The look of quiet disgust returns to the Master’s visage.

Manager: Satisfied customer, I see. Tell your friends.

Master Devlin: Are you ready to leave now, Travers?

Master Devlin: Yessss... Master Devlin. Thank you...

Master Devlin: Very good. Well then, come along.

Season 3 continues in Los Spicos