Joaquin Andamun

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No, eet's worse. I farted een here, and the suit is recirculating eet!

Joaquin snatches the remains of the napkin from under the windshield wiper. "Geeve me dat! Dat's a napkeen, noat a parkeeng teeket." Inigo looks nonplussed. "What ees a parkeeng teeket?" Joaquin punches more buttons on his cuff. "Now, how do I poot dees t'ing away?" The wiper continues, speeds up, halts. No, one more wipe. Must be on "intermittent/mist."

Joaquin accepts the napkin and thrusts it sideways in Inigo's direction, casting a look of asperity at False Ransom. "Mees Ransom," he says, pushing a button on his cuff, "jou really should learn to hold jour liquor baiter." A windshield wiper extends from his bulky neck collar, squeegeeing the orange mess from his faceplate.''Dese NASA-surplus costumes are de baist, eh?" Inigo, wiping his face (and smearing his greasepaint pirate mustache) replies, "Whad' ees NASA?"

Joaquin ducks behind the bar for a quick refill of the bucket. He kneels hastily at the side of the sleeping Cardinal, and positions one of the Cardinal's limp hands so a few fingers dangle in the water. Moving nearer to his head, he lets out a loud, ostenatious, "Ahh...Ahhh....CHOO!" Automatically, the Cardinal mumbles in his sleep, "Bless you." Joaquin snatches the bucket and approaches Inigo. "Maybe not fool strength, but jou een a hurry, so eet weel have to do."

Stepping into the pub, Joaquin notices the melee. Upon noting Elvira's presence and the activities of the thugs, he steps quickly to the bar. Seizing a bucket of dishwater, he dashes it on Elvira, and steps back, an expectant smirk playing on his features. However, as she shows no apparent signs of melting on the spot, his expression fades to chagrin and confusion and he edges towards the door. "Huh," he mutters to himself, "eet worked when dat leetle girl wid' de dog deed it..."

It's pronounced "España", Inigo! Not "Es Panna," but "Es Span Ya"...got it? It's spelled with an "en-yay" in the word. E, S, P, A, EnYay, A. OK? And while you're at it, maybe you should "ick-stay" to the "ipt-scray"!

Mama's boy.

Control freak.

"Oh, can it, Inigo! It's your fault that our Lead Editor, not to mention the entire Continuity Check team, suddenly had to go out on so-called "Emergency Maternity Leave," which, thanks to you, left me with one, count him, one poor schmuck typing madly out of his grandmother's basement, trying to make a bunch of people laugh -- with absolutely nobody with professional qualifications to back him up and make sure that his DRECK ends up on the cutting room floor, instead of getting out in print where it can do untold damage to the franchise! Once, just once, you might consider keeping it "zeeped", and maybe we wouldn't be in this situation!"

Well, I would have used the Bat Cave, only it didn't sound Spanish. Trust me, this stuff is funny, when you're the one doing the writing. And it's dark o'clock in the morning. And you're drunk. I, uh, guess you had to be there. Sorry.

Joaquin carefully threads his way through the back alleys of the city, heading towards his master's secret base of operations, the "Motel Seex" at the corner of Sepulveda and Figueroa. He covers only a few blocks, however, before he becomes aware of a minor irritation near the top of his back. A clearly visible lump protrudes from between his shoulder blades, wrinkling the otherwise impeccable tailoring of his justacorps. What can it be, he wonders. He removes his coat and finds, to his shock, a radio transmitter. A thready whispering trickles from the dangling earpiece: "9-11... noble sacrifices...weapons of mass destruction..." Clearly a two-way device, and clearly used now for tracking, however improvised. He drops it and grinds it into the dust. Sticking out his tongue in the general direction of Jacky Tar, he turns and continues his escape. At last he arrives at his destination, footsore, weary, bewitched, bothered, and bewildered...but in surprisingly good spirits. "Eh, boss," he says, closing the door behind him, setting the night lock and putting out the "Maid Service: Do Not Disturb" sign, "I just have the mos' terrible escape of my life. I ron and ron. Een fact, I do ron, ron ron, I do ron, ron. But I get away clean. Eet was glorious! Dey gon' sing about dees one in de ballads in the future, I tell jou. I even start making op a virgin of de song myself. Leesten, eet go like dees." Giant steps are what jou take, Joaquin Andamun, I hope my legs don't break, Joaquin Andamun, We could walk forever, Joaquin Andamun, We could leeve together, Joaquin, Joaquin Andamun. "No bad, eh, Boss? ...Boss?" Montoya merely stares expectantly at his sidekick. The seconds stretch out until Inigo can stand it no longer, and roars, "...Well? ...Who jou ronning FROM, jou eedeeot?" Joaquin blinks, then brightens. "Oh, jes, I almos' forget. Rosie late sleep about de sheep in froant of all does pirates. Some of dem combing lookeeng for jou an' me. I theenk dey have jour cusseen, Taiddy, too. Whad' jou wanna do now?"

Jacky Tar doubles over in pain from an unexpected attack of congenital lactose intolerance. While tying the ropes, Siren breaks a nail. Joaquin skates. So there. Nyah. While leaving the scene, however, Joaquin notices a strange glowing discontinuity in the scenery. "Whoa, look at dat! A reep in de fabreec of space-time! I guess I yank on de plot a leetle too hard. How I gonna feex dees?" A man with close-cropped hair, coveralls and a strange, blinking backpack leans out and grouses "I told you not to cross the streams!" A hand reaches through and jerks him back. He is replaced by an even more outlandish fellow, in a pointed hat, elaborate brocade robes, and sporting a waist-length, flowing white beard. From around his neck he produces a curious necklace. "I think about three turns should do it," he says handing it to Joaquin. Wide eyed, Joaquin spins the tiny hourglass. The world begins to shimmer. Suddenly the robed man snatches the pendant back, and retreats into the rapidly closing void. His voice floats through in an uncharacteristically petulant tone, "Very good. Now don't make me come up here again!" The shimmering ceases, and Andamun finds himself ... (pulls out reading glasses, leafs back a post or two...) ... ah,yes. Alone. The sounds of a defiant conversation float over the air from a few blocks away. "Teddy!" he exclaims, starting in that direction, then halting, torn by indecision. "...no, I gots to fin' Inigo and Rosarita, like she say. Dey know what to do." He starts to pick up the few remaining peacock quills. Why Inigo's cousin, after their collision, had grabbed so many and had run the other direction, he could not fathom. All he had said to Teddy was that Rosarita had spilled the secret of the ship, and that they were after him. Why does everybody want his cursed feathers, anyway? Then he turns back and sees the slowly settling trail of debris. He rolls his eyes in disgust. "Joaquin, jou not de sharpest cutlass in de armory," he grumbles. He drops the now ruined feathers, dusts off the last of the churro crumbs, and sneaks away.

Hearing the unmistakable sounds of pursuit, at some indeterminate distance but clearly approaching, Joaquin commences to weave and dodge among the cramped back alleys of the quayside. He pitches madly over the frequent impediments imposed by the barrels, carts, piles of detritus, and the occasional unsuspecting and annoyed shopkeeper. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to him, he is followed by a steady wafting of brilliant teal and black fragments, settling to the packed earth in his wake.

Without breaking stride, Joaquin calls over his shoulder, "Jou gon' hav ' to take dat op weeth Jacky Tar. Dese fedders comb off my Aztecs, an' beleeve jou me, I gon' hab a hard eenoaf time getting back de cleaning deposit on de costumes wid'out any help from jou peoples! Whad' dat Jacky Tar theenk he doing, anyway? Geeveeng away stoff dat not even hees to geeve! Jou peoples act jus' like a bonch of pirates!"