Turks & Caicos: Part Two

The following takes place following: Turks & Caicos: Part One

The Master returns to the table to find Travers is continuing to grumble to himself.

Master Devlin: So where were we?

Travers: Black boobs... Big beautiful black boobs that are hidden away from sight...It's a crime!

Luciano comes out with the screw driver and fried chicken

Travers: No! No no no noooo, I didn't order this! This ALL WRONG, ED DAMN IT! I've just about had it with - oh wait...chicken! Mmmmm.

Master Devlin: Butter?

Travers: No thanks

Master Devlin: I mean better?

Travers: Sure...

The Masters lobster and wine comes out.

Travers looks at the Master with suspicion.

The Master looks up

Master Devlin: What?

Travers: Nothing...

Soon Travers starts to feel a bit more mellow and relaxed. He's kinda slouched in his seat. His eyes start to look like the Master's.

The Master continues to eat his lobster

Luciano: How is everything?

Travers: Oh yes... luscious. Divine! Now, I have a question... Why do they call them coloured greens anyway? Is it because you people like them so much? Because I didn’t think you liked that word. Coloured folk, I mean. Yet you blacks sure love your coloured greens... I found this out from the movies!

Luciano: Actually, I don’t really care for them much. They kind of look like you though...

Travers: Oh Louis, they’re your people! You shouldn’t hate your own kind! They’re like your extended family... As for me, well, yes, I am green but I’m not coloured! At least not according to my friend Sam. Now, where is that tasty waitress of yours? The one that looks like the Master’s mother... Ed, rest her soul.

Luciano: She’s away doing cutlery. Your lewd comments were making her uncomfortable. I must say, Mr Travers, your moustache is a little... odd. It doesn’t look real.

The Master sniggers across the table.

Travers begins to feel even more drowsy and relaxed. Things become slower moving, yet he has more clarity. He feels the need to dive deeper into his fried chicken.

Master Devlin: Are you feeling alright, Travers?

Travers: Well, I feel pretty... Wait... What have you done to me?? I don’t feel well...

Master Devlin: You must’ve overeaten.

Travers: But I want more chicken...

Luciano places another plate in front of Travers.

Travers: NO! I think I’ve been poisoned!

Master Devlin: Poisoned? What are you talking about?

Travers: Larry put something in my food... No doubt as revenge for complimenting his lady friend. Look, I didn’t mean to make her uncomfortable...

Master Devlin: You haven’t been poisoned, Travers. You’re just high. High as a kite, I should say. Just ride it out.

Travers: Then those wretched fumes of yours made me ill! I feel sick... 🤢🤢

Master Devlin: Yes, you’ve overconsumed.

Travers: 🤮🤮🤮

Travers throws up all over his meal. The Master continues eating, apparently unbothered.

Luciano: Can’t handle it, eh?

Master Devlin: No, he’s a little precious.

Travers vomits again and his moustache falls off.

Master Devlin: Oh dear...

wF: Oh my lucky stars, a negro! How are you, sir??

Luciano: ... I’m... very well, thank you.

wF: You know the Masta is one quarter black... That’s why he has low IQ. And is prone to criminal behaviour...

Luciano: Master Devlin?

Master Devlin: Luciano, meet Widdle Frunkut... serial bullshitter.

wF: Hello! What’s this then? Chicken!? Ah... wait a minute... What’s in this..? No, it’s true. His mother was half Creole... I had her, you know! Down in New Orleans. Or... where are we anyway? The Congo? Verdant Bluffs... Rotherham!? Anyway, I’m the Masta’s adopted father.

Luciano: What is he saying?

Master Devlin: Information dump. He will tire out soon.

wF: Possible real father... We’re not really sure. Oh, I’m sorry...

Waldo starts to make African clicking noises in an attempt to translate.

Master Devlin: Also, he’s insane.

Waldo stops and looks at the wine.

wF: Sixty-five?? That’s a terrible year! Always corked...

Waldo grabs the bottle of wine and throws it at the wall behind the bar, almost hitting the waitress.

Master Devlin: Okay, Waldo, that’s enough!

wF: No, that’s not all, goddamnit! Bring us some filamingyongs!

Luciano: Flaming yongs??

wF: Yes! Sure.

Master Devlin: He means filet mignon.

wF: Ha! We knew it! See! He really is French! Proof!

Luciano: ...

Master Devlin: ...

wF: He’s also a poof, y’know! But we let it slide.

Master Devlin: Okay, Waldo. Say goodbye...

wF: No! We haven’t eaten yet.

The Master slaps the vomit moustache back on.

Waldo whips it back off in a stunning and unprecedented display of defiance.

wF: No... We always watch Dick Van Dyke...

Master Devlin: ....

Luciano: Um... I’ll get the steaks. How do you like them?

wF: Garçon!

Luciano: Yes, sir? I’m here...

wF: Oh... apple sauce, please. In a bowl!

Luciano: Yes, sir. And how would you like your steaks?

wF: Steaks? We’re having steaks too? Oh well. Um... excellent! Rare, please. The Masta will have his cremated... I say... Do you has a trident we can hold?

Luciano: Umm, no.

wF: Pity. Tell you what... bring us some large knives and a pole. Like from a broom.

Luciano: I can’t do that, sir.

wF: Of course you can, Lucy. This is your restaurant, is it not? Knives, please. Even medium size will do.

Luciano: Umm... Master Devlin?

Master Devlin: It’s fine. Don’t worry about him. You may go.

wF: Now look here, Lurtz. I’m the chief of the police... I can do whatever I want. Now you will bring knives and a pole.

Luciano looks at the Master. The Master shakes his head with an incredulous look.

Luciano: I’ll fetch your trident, sir.

Luciano heads to the kitchen.

wF: Excellent! He’s alright, Masta... Where did you buy him?

Master Devlin: What century do you think this is?

wF: Um... 18th? Whatever one the 1765 is from.

Master Devlin: Oh dear.

wF: We’re here in the colonies, aren’t we? Must have fallen asleep on the boat.

Luciano returns with a broom with wooden spoons attached.

Luciano: I’m sorry I couldn’t find any free knives.

wF: Oh well. Never mind. This will be acceptable. Thank you, Lawrence!

The young waitress brings out the apple sauce and the steaks. The Master’s steak is medium rare.

wF: Thank you, miss. You know, you look just like his mum!

Waitress: Excuse me?

wF: You’re excused! You look like his mother... very pretty.

Waitress: But Master Devlin is a purple dragon.

wF: His mother was hoo man. Would you consider being a life model? We could paint you...

Waitress: Umm, I think I should go.

Guthrie Govan appears.

Guthrie: Hi, it’s Guthrie here...

Master Devlin: Ah, Guthrie, join us! You remember Widdle Frunkut?

Waldo tosses the bowl of apple sauce in his face. Guthrie storms off.

Master Devlin: Waldo, that wasn’t very nice.

wF: He should consider himself lucky there were no knives on this here trident... We will not tolerate that man!

Luciano: Would you care for some dessert?

wF: Yes. Mustard, please... Also pizza. Cheese and tomato. No toppings. And some chocolate ice cream for my son, here.

Luciano: Who is your son?

wF: Him! Pizza man! Haven’t you been paying attention?? What kind of reporter are you?

Luciano: I’m going to go now. I have other matters to attend to.

wF: Can we come too?

Master Devlin: Leave him alone, Waldo.

wF: Oh, there you are. Excuse us. We thought he was the Masta. Easy mistake to make. You all look alike. No offence.

Master Devlin: What is wrong with you? 🤨

wF: Goblin! Also, mental health...

Master Devlin: Indeed.

wF: Our fiancé left us for a Goblin Slayer... Wesa so sad.

Master Devlin: No, she didn’t.

wF: So naturally, I’m on the lookout for another ex Mrs Waldo. What about that waitress?

Master Devlin: No. She’s like sixteen. Also, you came on holiday with me.

wF: Holiday? What are you talking about, man? We’re here on orders from His Majesty the King to suppress the colonial rebellion on these Caribbean isles.

Master Devlin: We are in Turks and Caicos.

wF: Yes, exactly! Barbados... Pirates have seized the King’s booty.

Master Devlin: I’m a little confused... You seem to think this is the 18th century, yet you’re concerned about Ermintrude and the Goblin Slayer...

wF: Yes!

Master Devlin: This is the 21st century.

wF: Right... And Ermintrude isn’t sixteen... I don’t think so, anyroad.

Master Devlin: The waitress is sixteen.

wF: Oh... Shot was she?

Master punches Waldo and knocks him out. His head flops into the mustard. The Master props his head back up and pops the moustache back on.

Luciano: Ohh, what happened here?

Master Devlin: He fainted. Thought he was in the 18th century.

Luciano: Ah, I see. More wine?

Master Devlin: Please.

Travers begins to stir and wake up.

Master Devlin: Ahh, Travers, you’re back with us?

Travers: What happened?

Master Devlin: You dosed off after your fried chicken binge.

Travers: Oh... Then why is there apple sauce and mustard everywhere? And a wine stain on the wall?

Master Devlin: Widdle Frunkut showed up.

Travers: Really? 🤨 How’d he get here?

Master Devlin: A stork brought him.

Travers: Right... So where has he gone?

Master Devlin: He’s away whoring.

Travers: Oh.

Luciano: Ah, Mr Travers, you have returned. You seemed a little ill earlier. Would you care for some dessert?

Travers: No thank you, Luciano. This place smells terrible... I’d like to leave. The Master will be paying.

Luciano: Actually, you already paid, Mr Travers.

Master Devlin: Thank you, Travers. Very generous.

Travers: 😡 This is outrageous! First you drug me, then you rob me!

Master Devlin: It must have been Widdle Frunkut who paid.

Travers: Money’s been taken from my wallet! I want it back!

Master Devlin: Most likely Widdle Frunkut. He does pickpocket.

Travers: Unacceptable! Give me my money back, Luciano! I am a very litigious goblin... I could ruin this place, so I suggest you return my money right now.

Master Devlin: You know what’s unacceptable? Your behavior this evening. You’re lucky you weren’t arrested.

Travers: Shut up, you... I know you were behind this. You had my food drugged! That’s extremely unethical!

Person at the next table: We saw you sexually harassing that girl.

Person at another table: You’ve ruined our evening. Disgusting behavior!

Travers: No one’s asking you, busybodies... Besides, I was under the influence of drugs—against my will! They drugged me. I want my money back... NOW.

Master Devlin: So you won’t even offer to buy the Master dinner?

Travers: Not after what you did!

Master Devlin: What did he do?

Travers: Had my food drugged! That was a serious violation of trust...

Master Devlin: Proof?

Travers: Luciano, I’m not going to tell you again...

The Master laughs at Travers, prompting Luciano to smirk.

Luciano: I think you should just leave, sir...

Travers becomes enraged. Then a mad look fills his eyes. The Master notices three hairs rise up through his toupee.

Walvers starts to laugh too.

Master Devlin: Oh dear.

Walvers belly laughs. Everyone now laughs along—except the Master. But he’s too late. Before he can act, Walvers grabs Luciano’s arm.

Walvers: Rip off wiffuhuh, eh? Well...

Walvers rips Luciano’s arm clean off. Everyone gasps. The woman at the next table screams. A stunned Luciano looks at his severed arm for a moment before Walvers smacks him in the face with it, with enough force to launch him across the room and crash into another table.

Walvers lets out a mad chuckle before diving into the other diners and starts to maul them. Arterial blood sprays as limbs fly.

The Master tries to intervene, but Walvers sets fire to the place and scampers off. The Master has to rescue the survivors and get them away from the burning restaurant.

The Master stands on the beach, watching the restaurant burn to the ground. Flames crackle. Smoke drifts up into the darkening sky.

Ed materialises beside him with a clipboard.

Ed: Five dead. Including Luciano. Three more maimed, life-changing injuries. The waitress is now jobless. This is all the Master’s fault, for the record.

Master Devlin: How’s it my fault?

Ed: You deliberately fed a goblin with a history of psychosis, a drug known to trigger psychosis. What were you thinking? Oh, that’s right. You weren’t. Turns out, the Master’s just another pothead. Now people are dead! Well the Master is going to be nailed to the wall for this one. No sleazing his way out of it this time.

Master Devlin: The Master gave the cannabis to Luciano to put in Waldo’s chicken batter. It was supposed to mellow him out. Unless Walvers was on some kind of steroid-cocaine mix, that wouldn’t cause a rampage. Waldo chose to lose control. All because he didn’t want to buy the Master dinner. After the Master kindly brought him on holiday.... Now the holiday home’s destroyed, and the Master has to find somewhere else to go. And for the record, the Master won’t be taking Travers on holiday again.

Ed: Cannabis is linked to psychosis and schizophrenia. Known fact. Around 50% of psychotic episodes involve cannabis users. And now you’re trying to spin yourself as the victim? Unbelievable. The Master drugged Travers without his consent, and now wants sympathy? You should be out there begging forgiveness—tracking Walvers and fixing the mess you made. And for the record, there’s an established association between spree killers and cannabis use in youth. Even if it weren’t for the psychosis, it’s highly unethical to drug someone without their consent. Once again, the Master shows his true, criminal colours.

Master Devlin: Whatever...

****

The Master tracks Walvers across the island. He finds a distressed woman, covering her chest with both arms.

Woman: A little green mobster stole my bikini top! He groped me... and ran off!

The Master sighs, grabs a towel from a nearby chair, and gently drapes it over her shoulders.

Ed (walking beside him): At least she’s still alive. Waldo must be coming down from the bloodlust. There was a severed leg just seventy metres back.

The Master follows the trail to a battered gift shop.

Waldo stumbles out—shorts around his ankles, loincloth still on, shirt ripped open. He’s bloodied, filthy, and swaying on his feet.

wF: Oh hi, Masta! It’s me, Wiffuhuh!

The Master charges. He slams into Waldo like a bull, launching him back through the shop’s front door. Waldo smashes against the rear wall with a wet splat.

He shakes it off.

Sirens blare. Police and military vehicles screech to a halt outside. Troops pour out, weapons raised. The Master cautiously steps away from the shop.

Waldo staggers from the shop, dazed.

wF: Come here, people! 🤪 Wiffuhuh needs some Bahama Mamas!

They open fire.

A full barrage. Waldo is torn to bits in seconds. Blood spatters the walls. What’s left of him crumples in silence.

Co-Editor: Turns out the Turks and Caicos police are more efficient than the Waldonian authorities.

Editor: Yeah, but they’ve got nothing on the stewards at that Turkmexican joint in Widdicombe—Turks & Tacos. Those guys don’t mess around. They removed the Master so fast for that mess he made in the bathroom. Turkish justice.

Waldo’s body is taken to the morgue. An autopsy is performed. The local medical examiner, baffled by the anatomy, quietly calls in a veterinarian for a second opinion.

While he’s on the phone, Waldo sits up, hops off the table, and casually walks out the front door.

The Master is waiting outside.

Waldo, barely held together, is covered in dried blood and dirt. His organs are still hanging out—he used too much energy regenerating from the bullets and didn’t have enough left to close himself up. He smells awful.

The Master shakes his head, grabs Waldo by the scruff, hoists him over his shoulder, and flies home to Widdlington.

End of Season

The Waldoverse Contiues in Season 5: Nilbog Hath Cometh