After about a half a day, I started to get aware of us maybe kinda getting off to a bad start.
"ALL RIGHT," I was like, "THIS IS HOW IT IS GOING TO BE." Then I took the one can of spray paint I had not yet eaten and made a big line all around the inside of Biscuit's cabin. "It totally looks like we aren't getting along, and when two people aren't getting along, it always works to paint a line across the room and have one person stay on one side of the line and the other person stay on the other side of the line and neither person is supposed to cross it. So here's the line."
"The [quack]," said Biscuit. "Where did you learn how to exist in society, old cartoons and 1960s sitcoms?"
"Yes," I said. "Why?"
He was quiet for a few seconds. I am not always certain what it means when people do this because it seems like a waste of time that could be spent talking or maybe yelling.
"Okay, never mind," said Biscuit. "Let's just address this [monkey puck] at face value. You are currently inside my cabin. You have painted a line directly across my interior. Are you seeing the problem?"
"It's all me," he said. "Both sides of the room are me."
"Wow," I said. "Way to get all grabby, Biscuit. Here's me trying to do that thing where one person gets one thing and the other person gets another thing and you're all like, 'me me me me me.' My logs are totes gonna show how much of a dick you are."
"Fine!" said Nick. "You [flipping] win. I'll…stay…on one side of the line, I guess?"
"Okay, cool," I said. "I won't talk about you being a dick." I gave him a look. "Yet. Anyway, the other thing you gotta do is move your stuff. And that includes your stupid indestructible brain tank."
"Um, no?" said Nick.
"Hm," I said. Then I scrunched my face up and thought really hard into my hat. "CAPTAIN'S LOG!" I shouted. "BISCUIT THE HELICOPTER IS BEING A DILLWEED!"
"The [pasta-steaming walnut] are you on? I can't move my brain. It's hardwired into the controls!"
"Oh, it's all about you. 'I can't move my brain.' 'I'm installed in the control panel.' 'I'm a delicious hunk of tasty tasty neurons in a tank nobody can chew open even if they try really hard.' You're so friggin' selfish, you know that?"
"Okay, what used to be weird tangents is now becoming active threats," said Biscuit. "You're getting a [feather-picking] hotel."
"Yeah, um, problem," I said. "Remember that two-week Cajun-style bender we went on without telling you and how we wrote it all off onto the Project's expense account?"
"Tax dollars paid for that?"
"It wasn't my idea!" I said. "Or if it was my idea, I can't remember, so it's pretty much the same thing. Point is, Gavotte wasn't into that, so we don't gots a sugar mommy for New Orleans round two."
Nick made one of those fake sigh noises that is just for effect because he hella doesn't breathe or nothing. "How much is your allotment?"
I thought for a second. "No dollars at all?" I guessed.
"[Donkey Kong]," Biscuit cussed. "All right, what about the little voodoo man? He lives here. Can you mooch off him?"
"Oh, hey, I forgot about him!" I said. "Remy! That's a good idea! I totes should see him anyway, since we got all kissy last time we were down here."
"Great," said Biscuit, his props starting to hum. "Already TMI, but great. Okay, Zombina, strap in, a'cause we're off to see the Houngan."
"Hey!" I said. "Total Yellow Brick Road style!"
"Roads?" yelled Nick, over the roar of his own engines. "Where we're going…we don't need…roads."
IT WAS AWESOME.