Freaky Frunkut

The following takes place following: Right To A Family Life

The Master drops off the miscellaneous items to the Masters Council and then takes the necessary items to Larry’s practice.

Master Devlin: Larry, you wouldn’t happen to have any kind of eye drops? I appear to have been sprayed in the face and eyes with some kind of skunk juice. I need to go find this Bokoblin and would prefer to not have my eyes hindered.

Larry: I'm afraid not. Eye drops are universally banned in the Waldoshire.

Master Devlin: Oh dear.

Larry: Apparently the editor has some sort of grievance with them.

Master Devlin: Ah. I can understand this... Anything else that’s not eye drops then?

Larry: I'd recommend just using water.

Master Devlin: Can you administer, please?

Larry: I don't have hands.

Master Devlin: I didn’t think you needed hands.

Larry: It's complicated... I suppose I could spray water in your face.

Larry goes over to the tap and fills his mouth full of water, then flies over to the Master and sprays water in his face from his mouth.

Master Devlin: Thank you, Larry. Much better.

Larry: Good. Well, I'm still working on translating and modifying this incantation. Hopefully we shall be ready when you return with the Bokoblin liver.

The Master goes to the Council and collects a chest of joy pendants, then heads to Waldeles Forest. He leaves the chest at the base of a tree and does a frog pose above on a branch. A few hours later, a grunting Bokoblin hobbles up to the chest and starts rummaging. The Master leaps down from the tree and beheads the Bokoblin. The Bokoblin flops to the ground. The Master pulls out his gutting knife and extracts the liver.

The Master returns to Larry's practice.

Master Devlin: Here!

The Master tosses the liver on Larry’s desk.

Larry: Oh? That was quick. I'm afraid I still have a little more work to do.

Master Devlin: Very well. I’ll put the liver in the fridge.

Travers suddenly comes to life.

Travers: Hello, Master Devlin. Say, you loo—just how I feel. Are you alright there, flatfoot salamander... Ahem. Snarl...

Master Devlin: Oh. It's Walvers...

Larry attempts to make a shrugging gesture, despite lacking shoulders.

Walvers: Doc, can you take a look at this pizza man here? I think he's a little under the weather.

Larry: I'm afraid I'm quite busy with this obscure text. I'm sure he's fine, but if you insist, then consult the EMH we have here.

Walvers: Very well. Activate Emergency Medical Hologram.

EMH: Please state the nature of the medical emergency.

Master Devlin: I'm fine...

Walvers: I think my snarling friend here is sick... I think he's got what I got, Doc.

EMH: Most improbable. But very well. Let's have a look, shall we? Hmmm...

The EMH starts scanning the Master.

EMH: Hmmm... That's curious... I think you should sit down, Mr. Dragon.

Master Devlin: I told you, I'm fine.

EMH: I'm afraid not. You appear to have contracted the plague...

Master Devlin: Oh dear...

Cue dramatic Star Trek score. Commercial break...

EMH: I'm afraid it's unlike any plague we have on record... It's something quite unusual...

Larry: Hmm. I've seen this before...

EMH: But how? There's no record of it.

Larry: It's prehistoric... I encountered it when I was a young doctor. It wreaked havoc tens of millions of years ago. I thought this particular strain had gone extinct.

Walvers is staring at the Master with a mad, vacant grimace.

EMH: How do you propose we treat the patient then?

Larry: I'm not sure...

Master Devlin: Well, this is unfortunate. Just a moment, please.

The Master picks up the phone.

Master Devlin: Hello, Warden, Master Devlin calling. Yes, fine, fine, thank you. I have a favour to ask. It appears that Reginald Van Der Beak has been misbehaving. However, it doesn’t warrant voiding the agreement. I think a couple weeks in solitary confinement—bread and water—will do the trick. Thank you very much, goodbye... Right, well, I think if I were to quarantine myself at Devlin Manor, it would do the trick.

Walvers: Um... Doc...

Walvers gestures towards the Master's wings.

EMH: Oh my... This is quite peculiar.

Master Devlin: What?

Larry: Feathers... You are growing feathers.

Master Devlin: Well that’s annoying. 😒

EMH: According to my tricorder, your cells are being rewritten at a molecular level.

Master Devlin: Can you reverse it?

EMH: I'm not sure. I've never seen anything like this... You are showing signs of an ornithological nature. I will have to run tests.

Walvers: Now hold on just a second... Are you saying my chief of sssstaff is becoming a bird?

Larry: It would appear so. Well, as you say, it's likely that whatever Reg sprayed in your face has done this... Perhaps if we can get a sample, we can figure out how to reverse it. Though you might need to ask the bird himself... the other bird... Reg.

Master Devlin: Perhaps the mayor can speak to him. I am too sick.

EMH: Interesting. You said you felt fine but moments ago. Can you describe your symptoms?

Master Devlin: Not really...

The Master sneezes suddenly and his snout explodes, revealing a distinct beak shape underneath.

EMH: The transformation seems to be occurring quite rapidly. Perhaps we should cryogenically freeze him?

Larry: We don't have that kind of technology here.

Walvers: We shall speak to the bird! Sabarasura! You want me to bring you back some ice cream, Stanman?

Larry: I'm not sure that's a good idea. You are too unstable, Mr. Mayor. Your mind is too fragmented. Perhaps one of your men can visit Reg?

Walvers: Very well. Hand me that telephone, if you please.

Master Devlin hands him the phone. Walvers starts to make a call.

Walvers: Hello? Mr. Konrad. I need you and Mr. Boothe to get down to the penitentiary immediately, no doubt. Find out what that damn bird has done to the Masta. Out of turn, pizzas—haha. Yes, this is your boss! No, stupid pizzas. No cheese! Eggs! Six of them... Uh huh. Uh huh. That’s right. Well, try and have a merry Christmas... Mr. Konrad didn’t answer but I left a message on his answering machine, that’s right. No doubt.

Everyone stares at Walvers.

Larry: Anyway... Master Devlin, where is the clay replacement body for Travers? I'm about ready to perform the ritual.

Master Devlin: It’s in the freezer.

Larry: Oh right. Doctor... whatever, please fetch Clayvers from the freezer.

EMH: This is hardly utilising my skills as a physician. But very well...

Larry: Now be quiet, everyone...

Larry starts floating over Walvers.

Larry: Quod perditum est, invenietur. Nici mort, nici al fiinţei. Te invoc spirit al trecerii. Te implor, Doamne; nu ignoră aceasta rugăminte! Lăsa orbită să fie vasul care-i vă transportă sufletul la el. Este scris, aceasta putere este dreptul poporul meu de a conduce. Aşa să fie! Aşa să fie! Acum! BOOLIGA!

The lights flash and magic stuff happens. A green mist floats into the clay Travers and it turns goblin green. Hair and clothes appear and it morphs into a recognisable Harris Travers.

Travers: Hello everyone! It is me, Mayor Travers. National treasure.

The other goblin looks confused. Its fake moustache falls off. It looks around at everyone in a state of anxiety.

Suddenly, the dragon-bird-man speaks.

Dragon-Bird: Hello! Mayor Travers, it’s a real treat to finally meet you, sir. Widdle Frunkut, at your service!

It starts shaking Travers' flipper.

wF: A real treat...

They look at the dragon-bird in confusion.

EMH: I'm sorry, but this is Widdle Frunkut—then who is this...

Everyone looks at the original goblin in shock. It doesn't look too pleased.

Larry: Oh dear...

Goblin: LARRY… WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE?

The Master, inhabiting Walvers’ body, suddenly loses control and flops into a puddle of goo.

Larry: Master Devlin, I take it?

A pair of angry eyes appear in the puddle.

Puddle: Yes... I am the Master...

Larry: Um, something must have gone slightly off.

Master Devlin: I would bloody well say so!

The Master shoots back up into Widdle Frunkut shape.

Master Devlin: I don’t like this! I don't like this at all... This body is too slippery.

Larry: Now, just try to stay calm.

Master Devlin: Calm? You’ve turned me into green goo!

Larry: Getting all bent out of shape won't help.

Master Devlin: Like this?

The Master bends into another shape.

Larry: It will be alright... I just have to work out some of the kinks in the code.

Master Devlin: I’m finding it very difficult to see the upside in all this. This is a fucking nightmare!

Larry: Well uh... Mayor Travers' condition seems to have improved?

EMH: Indeed, I'm seeing a healthy matrix. And his hair is real.

Master Devlin: Fuck him. Look at me.

wF: Oh stop complaining, Sidney... You look real handsome!

Master Devlin: 😒

wF: You think you got it tough... Look at us! Disgusting bird brain.

Larry: I don’t understand... This shouldn't have happened.

Master Devlin: Travers, I hope you will see Reg spend a lifetime in solitary for this.

Travers: For what?

Master Devlin: The whole bird thing.

Travers: Oh... right. Of course, of course... Um. You know, I really fancy an oil change.

Master Devlin: FOCUS, TRAVERS!

Travers: Well, it looks like Doctor Fraser has it covered... I need to go. I’ll be back later to see how you're getting on.

Larry: It will take some time. I must retreat to my study to find out what went wrong... But, yes, Mayor Travers, you're free to go. Master Devlin and WF should stay here though.

wF: Fat chance, Doc! Wiffuhuh may be a bird but we don't belong in no cage!

Waldo takes off, crashing through the window and flies away.

Master Devlin: Get back here, Widdle Frunkut!! Widdle Frunkut!! You will return this instant! I am your Master!!

Larry: Hmm... Doctor, please look after the Master while I try to find out what has gone wrong.

EMH: Very well. Might I recommend a bowl or container of some sort until you get the hang of taking form, Master Devlin? It will take time for you to adjust to your new form. I imagine taking solid shape is quite tiring?

The Master doesn't respond. Instead, he just sighs and falls into a rapid depression. The Master then turns into a green octopus and begins to hide himself in parts of Larry’s office.

Season 7 continues in Tentacles of Melancholia