#*this could take place not long after Monstervision and before Duck Sanctuary*

[after-out-of-place]

Epilogue - The Call

The cacophony of an old phone pierced through the warm tones of their tenor saxophone, demanding the small space of Bubble-Glub's living arrangements. The place felt small now that the dive-bar work-to-live mindset had been replaced with far grander things. Stashing the instrument carefully, their green hand slid lazily over the ringing appliance after several of its shrieks. Click. "Nyello." "Hello there, I'm lookin' for a mister 'Bubbled Gub'?" They let out a sigh, placed away from the receiver. "Məks. Bubble-Glub. This is them." "Alright so, Bubbles, if I may-" the voice continued. "You mayn't."

There was no introduction, attempting to skip straight to business. Whatever this was about, this caller had made several stellar mistakes already. "O-kay! So we got off on the wrong foot here, no offense-" "Some taken." they responded curtly, hoping to fluster the other end. It failed. "-no offense meant. So, I'm calling on behalf of the 'Out Of Place' establishment, hi, since they had an inquiry regarding a diner by the name of 'Jimmy's'? Does that ring any bells?" They grinned, for sure they remember Jimmy's. It'd been where they met Chritty for the first time, who showed himself capable under stress. Not necessarily stress caused by small mechanical ursine attempting to ruin everyone's day, but that was definitely a one-time thing and Chritty did stick with the rest of the band after dealing with them rather than finding a less chaotic crew. That meant they had soul, Bubble-Glub decided. It was also where they'd met Horace for the second time, of course. But this caller didn't seem interested in the band, so why not acquaint them with Jimmy's menu instead? "Mmhmm." Bubble-Glub continued, "It's a proper greasy spoon. Serves a mean set of cackleberries on a raft soakin' in axle grease and their java, even high 'n dry, ain't nothin' to sneeze at neither." "Riiiight … soooo there's a report for property damage caused by a … mechanical bear?"

They pinched the bridge of their nose, letting out another heavy sigh. This caller would not let up, and what they said was true: before even heading to Ballroom Bay for the Monstervision finals, the band was put in danger during breakfast by various mechanical doodads, courtesy of the San Bearino Bears' lead loser "Leo", and it had caused some minor damage to Jimmy's diner. To make matters worse, a larger of Leo's mechanical bears had fixated on them in the same week as the diner incident, with a malfunction causing the creature to only bear-hug as a sign of affection rather than aggression - it had been trying to enter the diner in an attempt to save Bubble-Glub from its smaller brethren. It had then kept following them around aimlessly until it was finally returned to its owner: Leo's father, a powerful man in the business of electronics. That it did not stay put is a different issue. "Ain't my problem." came Bubble-Glub's response. It could actually be their problem. While they all tried to continue like normal after everything had been taken care of, Bubble-Glub did slip an old business-card of the 'Out of Place' towards Jimmy himself with a wink and a knowing nod to signify the damage would be handled - they'd deliberately left it as a jab towards the 'Out Of Place's new management for having transformed a perfectly good dive-bar into a sterilized mess serving 'fusion cuisine'. To make matters worse, while Horace and Sila did file a report shortly after the diner incident, the response from law enforcement had been lax to say the least. This call was clearly meant as a squeeze. The longer this call would continue, the more of a chance there would be for Bubble-Glub to lose even a sliver of their cool and say something that'd get at least one of the band in hot water with one of several bad actors. "Oh, but I think it is your problem." the voice continued, "You have been seen closely associating with mechanical bears." "This is San Bearino, bub. Everything associates with bears." "Oh." the voice on the other end muttered an expletive clearly not meant to reach the receiver. "Cool. Thanks for the talk." "No! Wait! Uh! Hold on!", the voice stammered, There it was, the last-ditch attempt to get a foot in the door: "I propose we set up a meeting, face-to-face. Surely someone like yourself would agree to work things out in a more cordial manner? Let your people reach out to mine and we'll work it out from there." "My people reach out through music. Have fun talkin' to the radio."

Click.