[Somewhere just outside of Titania, second planet of the Lylat system.]


Man, sure feels fantastic getting a mission done early like that.

Great job, team.

We should leave Slippy behind more often.

Heh, good one Falco.

No, seriously. Let’s just leave Slippy behind next mission too; I’ve been meaning to catch up on the latest season of Star Hussies — and with all this newfound free time, I can do just that. Hell, I haven’t felt this relieved in years. Corneria is my oyster.

Hey, Falco. Yeah you, peckerhead. You’re really going to ask me to babysit your little falcon chicks as a favor and then talk crap about me to my wingmates?

Oh, don’t take it so personally, Slippy.

Matter of fact, I will, Falco. It’s about time somebody shut that big, flapping beak of yours. And I know just the way to do it.

Yeah, sure thing. Anyways, back to… literally anything else we were talking about before Slippy so rudely interrupted. Like how the fact that this latest mission and the two missions prior — both of which didn’t involve Slippy being out there with us, bungling around like an inept rookie — were completed four times as quickly/efficiently. Without a hitch, really.

Alright, quit dinkin’ around you two. Let’s just be civil.

A funny thing just happened, Falco. You see, it’s feeding time here for your lovely little chickies. And as their temporary caretaker, I just chewed up a bunch of worms for their evening meal, as is custom with your crude species… but I also added a special little treat.

Wait… what? This isn’t funny, Slippy. These are my progeny you’re talking about.

As you all know, I secrete a deadly toad venom from my glands. I sprinkled those delicious Bufotoxins on top of the worms like a chef might sprinkle breadcrumbs on top of a gourmet meal, and then regurgitated the mixture into their greedy, eager, none-the-wiser mouths. Should start seeing the effects any second now.

When did Slippy learn the word Bufotoxins?

… I’m turning this Arwing right the fuck around. If you’ve harmed even one orbital feather on their precious little heads, I swear…

You’ve gone directly off your fucking rocker, Slip.

You are a terrible pilot, Slippy Toad. Damn near worthless. One of the worst I’ve ever had the displeasure of flying for even one single moment on a mission with. But what makes me hate you even more? You’re a terrible, piece of shit amphibian to the very core. You fucking monster. I’ll see you dead for this, if it means I have to cram a Smart Bomb up your leathery-skinned ass or peck your bulbous eyes out and watch you slowly bleed to death.

Not exactly the wisest things to say to a scorned wingmate whose very whims decide the fate of your childrens’ lives.

*sobbing uncontrollably* Andross take you Slippy! Andross take you straight to Hell.

I’ll allow them to live if you recant what you just said and name three things you admire about me as an Arwing pilot.

C’mon Slip, that’s not fair. How about one?

*nervous sweating* Oh, dear Lord. I… you. I mean… there’s just so many things to choose from…

I’m waiiiiting!

*impersonating Falco’s voice* You could analyze enemy shields with the best of ‘em, Slippy. Thank you.

I’m drunk off my fat, pink ass right now and I just happened to pick up this frequency and overhear the entire conversation by complete chance. And… holy shit, you are one twisted son of a bitch, Slippy. This coming from the porcine prick who goaded a son about how much pleasure I derived from hearing his father’s dying screams.

*inconsolable sobbing*

Haha, hey. Come on. I was just kidding, Falco. Your fledglings are in absolutely no danger whatsoever. Geeze. ::haughty chuckling:: Learn how to take a fucking joke.

Oh thank heavens. Oh, my sweet babies are alive.

I did fuck your wife though. I’m ok.