Thanks for the clarification, Solai! Okay, here we go. It’s not a great plan, but I’m hoping it’ll do well with the 18-34 male demographic.
Since the Dolls prefer their home court for its tactical advantage, they realize they have to lure Team Tibbs to Dallas. ActiveFred uses her similarity to one of Dean’s previous clients, Andrea, to lure the team to the picturesque suburb of Plano, Texas, for her housewarming barbecue. So they all pile into the Metallicar and drive south.
Somewhere between the chicken wing appetizers and the viewing of Big Bang Theory, BuffyBot and ActiveSarah spy each other across the room. Though programmed for combat, BuffyBot does not see the sense in fighting a being that looks decidedly human and neither demon nor vampire. ActiveSarah has no such hesitation in dealing with a known enemy so she goes for the homeowners’ prize kitchen knives. They slice and dice at one another until both combatants are down to their underwear and dangerously close to the inground pool. When a well-timed hair pull plunges them both into the water, BuffyBot’s circuits are fried and she ends up electrocuting ActiveSarah. All the men at the party rush to give her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
ActiveJack grows tired of waiting for his double to arrive so he goes in search of Dean at the latest fleabag motel that he’s making the team stay at. Dean’s alias of Pete Daltrey is easy to spot on the hotel’s registry so he readies his gun and heads to room 42. Without his “brother” Sam to pick the lock, ActiveJack opts for brute force and the element of surprise as he kicks in the door. But that’s what Dean was expecting.
They fire at each other until they’re out of bullets, and then they resort to hand-to-hand combat until finally ensnared in a headlock. They grumble about having better things to do, like saving the world from ending, and why do they always have to be the one saving the world. Why can’t they just go get a beer and watch the game? So they declare a truce and do just that, drinking till sunrise at Sam’s Bar.
Tosh and her counterpart, ActiveFred, are both pragmatic women who prefer rational explanations to unjustified homicide. Tosh insists that there can only be one of her, and ActiveFred is not it. Using her mobile medikit and hacking into the Torchwood personnel files, she compares her blood type, DNA, fingerprints and retinal scan to that of ActiveFred.
With her own identity firmly established, she helps ActiveFred learn that her true identity is that of Winifred Burkle, a college student en route to California, and she helps her find her stuffed bunny and pack her station wagon.
D’Argo wasn’t sure what to think of this “housewarming” ritual, as its attendants were either afraid of his alien appearance or enthusing about the accuracy of his costume and droning on about something called Farscape. What a bunch of frelling idiots. So he retreated to the cool, dark depths of the neighborhood’s spacious sewer tunnels.
ActiveVincent felt oddly at home in the sewers as they reminded him of the twisting corridors of his “home,” the Leviathan ship Moya. But the shape that moved across the tunnel in front of him did not seem familiar. It wasn’t John or Aeryn or Chiana, and it was too quiet to be Rygel. It was almost his height and moved with the rigid posture of a warrior. Possibly a Peacekeeper or worse, a Scarran. He would disable the intruder and then consult John.
ActiveVincent stepped out from the shadows to unleash his venomous tongue, but his tongue was significantly shorter than he’d thought. D’Argo heard the motion behind him and whirled to face his adversary. “You look even more ridiculous than I do,” he scoffed.
“Thno, I don’tbth,” ActiveVincent retorted before retracting his tongue. “And you are foolish to address a Luxan warrior with such contempt.”
D’Argo tilted his head quizzically. “I am a Luxan warrior. You’re just an overgrown furball.”
ActiveVincent growled and stepped closer. “I am Ka D’Argo, wrongly imprisoned by the Peacekeepers for killing my wife, Lo’Lann. Searching for my son, Jothee, with a crew of misfits and miscreants. I will not be told otherwise.”
“Uh-huh,” D’Argo nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “Where’s your Qualta blade?”
“Weapons were not allowed at the party,” he pouted.
“Then this will have to do.” Rapidly making a fist, he punched ActiveVincent in the nose. “See, your blood isn’t black, like a true Luxan.” With another jab followed by a right hook, he knocked out the imposter. “And I talk too much.” Giving a satisfied nod, he headed back to the party to see if there was any spinach dip left.