"If I knew it was going to be this kind of a party, I would have brought the lotion," Ozzy said as his gaze never left the women as they continued their brawl in the fish factory.
"Is this some ritual in conjunction with this celebration?" Adem asked as the women tumbled past them.
"No. But I do know guys who'll pay twenty-five cents a minute to watch this." Baxter watched as a waiter, trying to keep out of the way, slipped and fell to the floor. The tray full of deviled eggs landed on his face. "This is one hell of a party. To bad it has to stink in this place."
"Good," Adem said in relief. "Then it's not just me. I was afraid to say anything after that barbeque incident."
"I still don't understand how someone can't like the smell of grill roasted corn."
"I thought we were done with this."
"We are. We are. I'm just thinking out loud." Ozzy took a sip of his champagne. "So, what's it with you and these suits all of a sudden?"
"I got the idea from those recordings you gave me. The people associated in a line of work similar to mine back home are always represented by wearing suits. I believe they were called detectives." Adem diverted his attention away from the fight, having no interest in it.
Ozzy was still mesmerized by the battle rolling around the room in front of them. "Recordings? Oh, you mean those movies and TV shows? Glad to help. By the way, what did you think of The X-Files?"
"It explains a lot."
"Really? Like what?"
"Why no other intelligent life form in this galaxy has attempted to make contact with your race."
"I think I liked you better when I didn't realize you had a sense of humor."
