Summary: Scarab realizes that Heka has an incredibly sexy telephone voice. Based on a conversation with 'mendeia' that turned very silly. Rated PG-13.

Smooth Operator

It all started when Scarab realized that Heka had an incredibly sexy telephone voice.

He'd decided to order pizza one evening, one of the many advancements of the modern world that he'd become readily accustomed to since escaping his centuries long entombment. Heka, well used to placing orders for her master and keeping up on his finances, was chatting away on Scarab's land line, her tail curled around the receiver, holding it to her head. "Why, yes, extra anchovies would be lovely. How much more are they going to cost me? Oh, really. Oh, well, aren't you just a peach."

"Heka," Scarab said as he breezed in, dressed in a purple bathrobe with expensive-looking embroidery up the sides. "Don't order anything disgusting."

"Oh, that's just my, uh, my boyfriend," Heka cooed into the mouthpiece. "He gets very jealous of the attention I get from strapping young men such as yourself." Scarab rolled his eyes. "Forty minutes?" Heka said throatily. "Will you be delivering it, too? Mmm, I can't wait." She hung up. "It's $20.59, Scarab."

"Fine, fine. I don't understand why you flirt with those puerile service men," the sorcerer grumped, preoccupied with staring at his reflection to see if the latest anti-aging crème he'd purchased for a sizeable chunk of change was even remotely helping to soften his 3,500-year-old skin.

Heka stretched and yawned. "It's just so easy," she smirked, slithering onto Scarab's vanity table. "I think that stuff's making you splotchy," she commented idly. "Is that the new trend these days?"

"You hush," Scarab scowled, and then sighed. Said 'stuff' had not been cheap, by point of fact. That was the last time he used anything that was recommended to him – or rather, to Harris Stone – by someone named after a piece of flora ("hi! I'm Tiger Lily, but everyone calls me T.L.! How can I help you?"); he didn't care how upscale the boutique she was employed at was.

"I'm old," Scarab muttered, grimacing at his, indeed, splotchy skin reflected in the large oval mirror before him. "I'm slowly but surely whittling away my fortune on these so-called 'miracle cures' that are nothing but a temporary fix. I still haven't been able to secure the soul of a simple, twelve-year-old boy, even though it should be like taking candy from a baby –" Scarab was interrupted mid-rant by his stomach growling. "And on Amenhotep's accursed tomb, how long does it take to deliver pizza?"

"About forty minutes, boss," Heka reminded him. Then, seeing that this wasn't helping, added in a placating tone: "I can call them back and see if I can't offer an incentive to get it here faster. I can be pretty persuasive, if I do say so myself," she giggled.

A light bulb suddenly blinked on in Scarab's head. "Heka," he said, grabbing up the snake impulsively in a sort of hug. "You're brilliant!"

"… because of pizza?" Heka replied, looking dubious.

"No! The phone! We can start a 1-900 service for the San Francisco area – with your slithery charms and my business savvy, we'll make millions!" Scarab's eyes were alight with the promise of his continued considerable wealth.

Heka tilted her head skeptically. "Have you been eating sugar straight out of the bag again?" she asked.

Scarab ignored her. "My adult-rated expenditures will prove most lucrative," he gloated aloud. "And you, my scaly seductress," he said, chucking Heka under the chin and grinning broadly, "will be the 'piece de resistance' of Scarab's Sexporium!"

"I think that I'd rather stick anchovies up my nose," Heka sighed.

Ja-Kal had always been something of an insomniac. In Ancient Egypt, he often tempered his restlessness by taking long walks just outside the palace walls, the familiar sights and sounds of the desert quelling his nerves and eventually allowing him to sleep. In this strange modern world, he had no such outlet; it was dangerous for the mummies to be out and about alone, both because of the threat posed by Scarab, as well as the general fear of exposure to the public.

Hampered by the need to stay close by, Ja-Kal tried to make himself rest, chiding himself that he would be useless as Rapses' protector if not at top form – the weary hunter may become the prey if not watchful and alert, after all. (Or something like that, anyway – Ja-Kal suspected his friends knew that he made up most of his wise proverbs on the spot, as the situation called for them.) When sleep absolutely could not find him, Ja-Kal, in turn, found solace in late-night TV.

Such was his situation on this particular evening. The falcon sat perched on the worn sofa Nefertina had scrounged up from a thrift store and Armon had carried home. He cradled the television remote in one bandaged hand, and depressed the button that made the screen change rapidly – he believed the prince had referred to this as "channel surfing" – from late-night cooking shows to exercise machine infomercials, to news recaps, and on to still more infomercials.

He was about to shut off the machine and dig up one of Nefertina's romance novels or something else that might succeed in putting him to sleep, when a scuffling sound put him suddenly on full alert. Inwardly, he sighed – so much for trying to rest.

It was Armon, looking rather apologetic when he realized he wasn't the only one awake. "Just getting a midnight snack," he stage-whispered, tip-toeing exaggeratedly over to the refrigerator (which he still referred to – fondly – as the "white stone sarcophagus"). "Can't sleep?" the larger mummy offered, sympathetic to his leader's plight. He knew that Ja-Kal felt their every defeat, no matter how small, very strongly, probably more so than the rest of them, as he expected a leader would. And while he didn't know exactly what it was that kept Ja-Kal awake on so many nights, Armon suspected that the falcon took comfort somehow in the solitude, using it for quiet reflection and to work through any issues he had. (And possibly to come up with more of his infamously nonsensical animal proverbs, Armon secretly thought.)

"Do you want to be alone?" the great ram asked, awkwardly juggling a stack of several bowls and containers of food with his single arm. That he was willing to pile it all into his sarcophagus just to give his friend space made Ja-Kal smile.

"It is all right, Armon," the falcon said, nodding at the couch. "I don't mind the company."

Looking relieved, Armon hefted the bulk of his early-morning meal – not to be confused with breakfast, of course – onto the low-slung coffee table that Rath had built from some scraps of wood. "Watchin' the boob tube?" he commented, munching into part of a sub sandwich.

"The boob … uh, yes. Kind of. I was going to turn it off, actually, but if you want to watch it …" Ja-Kal trailed off. He handed Armon the remote; the larger mummy popped the last bite of a chicken wing into his mouth and grabbed the proffered device, flipping past the news station Ja-Kal had stopped on. He channel-surfed determinedly for several moments, stopping short on a New York-based comedy station that went off the air at three. "Whoa, talk about 'boob tube' …" Armon mumbled, staring wide-eyed at the screen.

Ja-Kal couldn't help but agree. Glancing back was a young, scantily-clad human female, lounging on a lavish-looking bed, and cradling a phone in a manner that was wholly inappropriate. "Are you alone tonight?" a throaty, strangely familiar voice-over asked as the girl on camera continued rubbing her hands all over her lingerie-clad body and the bedding underneath her. "You don't have to be. Our lovely ladies want to keep you company." The screen split to several other women in similar dress, all writhing on silky-looking furniture and blowing kisses at the camera.

Armon made a low grumbling noise in his throat. "I wonder if they like to eat."

Ja-Kal coughed. "I don't think they're in for that kind of company, Armon." Sure enough, the remaining part of the commercial detailed all of the major credit cards that the company accepted. When the phone number flashed onto the bottom of the screen in pink font, the two mummies looked discreetly at their laps.

"Um." Armon said shiftily. "I'm uh, I think I'll hit the sack now."

"Oh, yeah, me too," Ja-Kal said quickly. "Good night!" Neither could quite manage to meet the other's eye later that day.

Presley wasn't positive, but he thought his guardians looked a great deal more tired than usual the next afternoon. He'd sparred with Armon for only about eight minutes before his largest mummy friend fell into an easy trap, was pinned by his pharaoh, and declared Egyp-Tsu practice over for the day. And when he'd prompted Ja-Kal about their standing appointment to go fishing together, the falcon mumbled something wearily about having trouble sleeping and slunk off towards the television area, where Armon eventually ended up as well.

"C'mon, kiddo, let's go for a drive," Nefertina volunteered, glancing at her sluggish housemates and then at Rath, occupied as per usual with something magical and complicated-looking at his work station. Presley followed eagerly, half-expecting a rebuke from Ja-Kal, or at the very least, a "be careful". It came to naught, however, and he tagged along after his female guardian, always up for the speed promised by the Hot-Ra and Nefertina's skilled but leaden foot.

Once the boy-prince had left the Sphinx, taking his bountiful energy with him, the room fell uncomfortably silent. Rath, used to a certain amount of noise, realized that he was, in fact, unable to concentrate without some sort of chattering or general sense of liveliness about the place. "What is wrong with you two?" he demanded, coming to stand in front of Ja-Kal and Armon, both beached on the couch. "No offense, but you both look … well, dead."

"Yeah, well, no offense either, but you make a better door than a window," Armon commented, aiming the TV remote in front of him. Rath moved out of the way huffily. "I wonder if those girls will be back today," Armon commented, staring at a skit show playing on the comedy station that the television had been left on the night before.

"What girls?" Rath asked.

"It was nothing," Ja-Kal said quickly, but Armon cut in.

"The ones in the spirit box! They were offering to keep us company."

"Oh," Rath said, suddenly understanding. He smirked at Ja-Kal: "Somebody was bored, I take it?"

Ja-Kal pursed his lips. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, but he sounded rather unconvincing.

"A little restless, all alone in the night?" Rath pressed, a devilish smile on his usually stoic face. "A little antsy, perhaps?" When there was no immediate answer from Ja-Kal, just a flaring of the nostrils and crossed arms, he went on: "there's no shame in it, you know. I've been reading up on current theories about human health and reproduction from one of Presley's school books. Apparently, most modern doctors seem to find it rather healthy to, er, 'knock a few off', I believe is what I heard some teenagers call it. It releases something called endorphins, I believe."

"Why are you telling me this?" Ja-Kal said, still tight-lipped.

"Oh, you know, just scholarly interest," Rath said angelically, his eyes positively dancing. "How long has it been for you, Ja-Kal? Inquiring minds want to know – don't we, Armon?"

Armon looked back and forth between Rath's amused visage and the increasingly pissed off demeanor of their leader. "Um. Sure?" he said, confused.

"I don't believe that's any of your business, Rath," Ja-Kal said stiffly.

"I will just assume that that means it is a chronic case for you, then," Rath said gleefully.

Unwittingly, Ja-Kal felt himself being pulled into an argument. "I did have a wife, you know," he retorted lamely.

Rath raised an eyebrow. "And during the weeks when you were away on hunting trips with the pharaoh, what did you do then?"

Ja-Kal sputtered. "It's been 3,500 years for you too, Rath. I think we can agree and just cut one another some slack, all right?"

Rath turned his eyes towards the ceiling. "Actually, for me, it's been about forty-five minutes." From Ja-Kal's side, Armon guffawed, having finally caught on. "But I understand if you have to temper the beast that rages inside of you by calling upon girls from the spirit box."

"I didn't call them!" Ja-Kal erupted, standing up and glaring at the snake-avatar. "And anyway, this is a pretty sordid topic of conversation to be having in front of our young prin- hey," he blinked. "Where did Rapses go?"

Though she did not want to admit it, Heka knew that Scarab's phone sex line was a smashing success. Lonely San Fran-ers paid an exorbitant amount of modern currency for a chance to chat with, presumably, one of the frolicking women from the commercial that had been running on late-night television spots for about three weeks now. Instead, they got Heka, who spent her days composing scripts and coming up with sexy-sounding things to say to her sexually frustrated clients (she drew most of her ideas from soap-operas – Scarab had been annoyed when she'd filled up his TIVo with episodes of "Passions", but it was easily her favorite), and her nights working as an erotic chat-line operator.

"You sound so hot, baby," her current client gushed, after Heka had breathily told him that she was home alone and had D-cups.

The snake stifled a yawn as "Steve" told her in detail how much he wanted to fondle some body part she didn't have. Most of the requests she got were all very similar – contrary to popular belief, it was a pretty boring job. But Scarab had insisted in her participation, and while she not-so-secretly thought her master was somewhat of a numbskull, she generally went along with his plans, for entertainment purposes if nothing else.

She'd just finished telling Steve that she was taking off her pink satin panties when he swore. "Crap, my mom's home," he said, and there was a sound of fumbling on his end of the line. "Heather, you've been great," he told her, referring to Heka by her 'stage name'. "I'll call you again sometime, okay?"

"I can't wait, baby. Mmm, I'm so horny for you," Heka drawled, rolling her eyes. The connection went dead, and she curled her tail around the cup of soda she'd been nursing all night, sipping some through the straw. A 'beep' indicated her next client. She sighed, the phone still muted between callers – this was almost worse than that, thankfully, short-lived fast-food fiasco. "Hey there," she said into her headset. "I'm Heather. What's your name, honey?"

"I'm uh, I'm Ja-Ka- er, Jack. My name is um, is Jack." Medium tenor, nervous-sounding – definitely a first-timer, Heka decided. She had gotten pretty good at characterizing her clients, and at picking out the returning customers. Sometimes, she jotted down little notes to herself about the more interesting ones, using her tail to hold the writing implement: 'Bob. Brown hair, 6'4", likes spanking'. 'Jason. Banker, divorced, has a foot fetish.' It kept her sane. As much as she could be given the circumstances, anyway.

'Jack', on the other hand, just sounded anxious. Heka knew the best way to get a 'newbie' calmed down was to get them talking – it was a lot like squeezing a mouse before eating it, actually. "What do you like to do, Jack?" she queried, picturing some poor bastard hunched in a chair in a darkened room, white-knuckling the phone.

"Do?" Man, this guy was green.

"Yes, do," Heka emphasized, trying to keep her tone playful, though she was getting irritated – she was going on four hours without a break tonight; she made a mental note to have a little one-on-one with her master about employee benefits. "Do you want me to do the talking? Do you like to role-play? I can be your naughty schoolgirl. Or maybe a debauched princess?" Guys usually loved that one.

"Can it be an … Egyptian princess?" Bingo.

"Sure. How about this: I've just stepped out of the royal bathing chambers, where my servants have washed me in the finest oils in the land. I'm naked and very wanton. You're an evil vizier trying to overthrow my father, the pharaoh, and rule all of Egypt …"

Some weeks later, Presley sat camped out in the main living area of the Sphinx, watching television with Armon and generally avoiding homework. His mom was working late at the museum, and he found he liked the company of the mummies way better than that of his pre-algebra worksheet.

"This 'Scrubs' show is greatly amusing," Armon commented during a commercial break. "Most of your modern medical shows are so serious, but this is actually funny."

From the opposite end of the room, Rath snorted. "The medical world is supposed to be serious. Those people make important scientific advancements every day. They save people's lives! They –"

"Okay, we get it, Dr. Cox," Armon retorted, cutting him off. He nudged Presley's shoulder. "Did you get that, my prince? I called him Dr. Cox, because he goes off on these huge rants all the time." The ram looked pleased with himself.

Presley chuckled. "I get it, big guy." Rath harrumphed.

Suddenly, the opening bars to an old pop song emanated from the television. "Walk like an Egyptian," Presley sang along, and then did a double-take at the screen. "Whoa, is that who I think it is?" he pointed.

Sure enough, it was Scarab, dressed in a tight, purple tuxedo with tails and a top hat, Heka around his neck, a feather boa sans feathers. "Come on down to the Desert Delights Adult Night Club," he said, grinning sinisterly at his presumed audience. "We have everything to get you in the mood."

The camera panned to a stage filled with bare-chested Shabties, bowties around their necks, all dancing to something loud with a thumpa-thumpa beat. Strobe lights cast themselves over an audience of appreciative spectators; then there were more shots of said spectators playing pool, dancing with one another, and drinking something colorful and alcoholic before the camera panned back to Scarab in his pimp suit. "Open at 10 PM. Be there, or be square." For emphasis, a shot of the outer exterior of the night club, triangular and shaped like an Egyptian pyramid, ended the commercial.

The mummies and Presley sat dumbfounded for several moments. Nefertina and Ja-Kal returned shortly thereafter, each carrying two bags of groceries. "What's going on in here?" Nefertina asked, setting her load on the counter.

"Scarab's started an Egyptian-themed adult sex club," Armon answered summarily.

"Oh."

More silence followed. Eventually, Rath coughed. "I know this may generate debate," he began, "but I believe it is our duty as the Guardians to investigate what Scarab is, erm, up to."

"I agree with Rath," Armon said hurriedly.

"I want to go, too!" Presley chimed in.

Armon shook his head. "You must be 17 and older for this adventure, my prince," he countered, parroting a sign he'd seen at a local movie theatre once.

"But that's not fair," Presley protested. "I have a very old soul."

"Nobody's going," Ja-Kal interrupted sternly. "We don't even know what Scarab's true intentions are. Maybe, for once, he's just trying to legitimately make money. Who are we to stop that?"

"Excuse me," Rath interrupted testily, "but I seem to recall someone running up a $300 phone bill for a 90-minute call to 1-900-SEX-ME-UP." Armon gaped. Nefertina covered Presley's ears and glared.

Ja-Kal, aghast, looked at the ground, and then back up slowly. "I … agree with Rath as well," he said, defeated.

"Score," Armon whooped. Rath looked smug.

"But … there's no proof that he's doing anything wrong," Nefertina protested. "No evidence-"

"Nefertina, would you mind taking the young prince home? Thanks," Ja-Kal said, waving his hand vaguely and not waiting for an answer. Preoccupied, the three male mummies left their headquarters, nearly stumbling over themselves to pile into the Hot-Ra. They sped off, Rath at the wheel, leaving the Sphinx's two remaining occupants in a small cloud of exhaust.

"Well, that blows," Presley grumped, and then looked up at an irritated Nefertina. "No offense."

"None taken," his female guardian replied, glaring at the spot where the vehicle had just been. "Which is more than I can say for them, that's for sure."

"An extra ten minute break, and that's my final offer." Heka's party line headquarters had been moved into a private portion of the expansive building Scarab had purchased for use as San Francisco's hottest new night club, so her boss could oversee both expenditures at once. The new hang-out was slightly larger than its predecessor, but Heka had some additional demands.

"No deal," she said snootily, refusing to budge an inch. "I'm the reason you were able to afford this place to begin with. Either you give me the raise I deserve, or kiss Heather's Party Chat goodbye."

"Stubborn serpentine," Scarab growled. "Fine. An extended lunch break. A larger expense account. A wider variety of snack foods, a personal masseuse, and I'll let you pick the Pay Per View movie once a month."

"Twice," Heka corrected. "And you're forgetting one thing."

"And a private sun room," Scarab added, gritting his teeth.

"Done. Just sign here," Heka said, pushing a contract she'd drawn up on her master's office computer towards him. Scarab skimmed it and scribbled his signature near the bottom. "Excellent. Pleasure doing business with you, boss," Heka grinned.

"Whatever," Scarab grumbled, shooing the snake away and adjusting the collar of his dress shirt. It was fifteen minutes before the club was set to open, and he wanted everything to be perfect. He'd had a twinge of fear over the idea of the mummies catching wind of his plans, but it had been forcibly shoved aside by Heka's mini-strike.

Scarab shook his head. He didn't know why he put up with her sometimes. He generally decided it had to do with the fact that she really understood him, probably better than anyone else did, living or otherwise. Also, she knew things about him that could be potentially uncomfortable if word got out – for example, that mud baths gave him a horrible rash, or that he secretly enjoyed the music of Kenny G. Heka's silence – not to mention, her ability to seduce some of San Francisco's most eligible losers into dropping a few hundred dollars to hear her purr in their ears – was golden.

And if he were to admit it to himself, he rather enjoyed her personality. He liked to think this feeling was reciprocated, but given that Heka had come close to selling him down the Nile for some Doritos and a personal sunning rock, he couldn't be certain. In any case, it was probably best not to push his luck.

Scarab picked up his top hat with a flourish and set it atop his head. "How do I look, Heka?" he asked, striking a carefully practiced debonair pose.

Heka cocked her head. "Sort of like that purple dinosaur thing that sings to children on TV. It comes on right before my soaps."

Scarab blinked. "Why do I bother," he said to nobody in particular.

The mummies, sans Nefertina, arrived at the Desert Delights Adult Night Club in record time. Ja-Kal strategically suggested that Rath drive around to the rear end of the building so they could enter unseen, which made Armon nearly choke on the bag of onion rings he'd stored in the Hot-Ra's glove compartment.

The door was locked, of course. Rath contemplated trying to jimmy it open with magic, but Armon simply punched a hole through it with his golden arm – they'd simultaneously decided it would be "better" if they went into the situation already transformed and wearing their battle armor, though none of the three really had much of a plan beyond that. They rounded a couple of corners into the main hall of the club, already containing a smattering of patrons.

"Look's like the party's in full swing! I wonder if there are any refreshments!" Armon exclaimed over the loud music.

"Now, I think it's important that all of us stick together …" Ja-Kal began, trailing off as Armon tottered away in search of food, and Rath was accosted by a couple of young women sporting large snake tattoos, both gushing about his golden serpent headpiece. Flattered, he walked off with them, a girl on each arm.

"Well, that went well," Ja-Kal muttered to himself. He looked around warily, then gasped: standing on the balcony of the VIP area, sipping a clear drink and adorned with Heka around his neck, was Scarab. "That can't be good," he murmured, and began looking for a way to heft himself up to the second floor. Then it occurred to him that he could fly. "To borrow a phrase from the boy-prince, 'duh'," the falcon said to himself, biting back a grin. Then he rose to face his sworn enemy, and whatever evil-doings he'd most assuredly cooked up.

"Boss, don't look now," Heka hissed quietly into Scarab's ear, "but, well, mummy at twelve o' clock."

"Ja-Kal," Scarab muttered, palming his forehead. "Then that means the other three are likely here as well." He considered transforming himself, but the blue-armored mummy had already climbed atop the platform and was fast approaching with solid, albeit somewhat clunky footsteps. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" he said sarcastically.

Ja-Kal glared. "What are you up to, Scarab?" he demanded. "What do you mean to accomplish with all this?" He gestured around, his arm sweeping attention towards a well-lit bar, and back at the ground level of the club, about twelve Shabties in a line, bumping and grinding to a hip-hop song cranked up overhead. (From the sound of it, their mainly female audience was enjoying the show.) "Reveal yourself," the falcon insisted. "Is this another plan to secure the soul of Rapses? Your game is up!"

Scarab merely smirked. "Whatever a twelve-year-old boy would be doing in an adult-themed night club is between you and your irresponsible guardianship," he replied smoothly. "As for my intentions, I'm merely using my business savvy to provide an apparently much-needed service to San Francisco's nightlife populace," he continued. "I charge a cover fee, tack on a few dollars for refreshments, and let people dance."

"That can't be all there is to it," Ja-Kal insisted. "You're up to something, Scarab."

Scarab's eye twitched. "If you'd like me to add 'destroying a 3,500-year-old nuisance' to my to-do list tonight, that can be arranged," he said nastily, baring his teeth. He transformed quickly and crouched into a fighting position, ready to propel himself into the air if necessary. "Ready when you are," he laughed darkly.

Ja-Kal shook his head. "Oh, no. Ladies first," he said mockingly.

"Hey, I'll take that as an open invitation," Nefertina yelled. As if on cue, the feline-armored warrior made her entrance. She made to tackle Scarab, but the sorcerer managed to get out of the way just in the nick of time, leaving Nefertina to crash into Ja-Kal. Both mummies yelped unpleasantly as they collided.

"Smooth, real smooth," Ja-Kal coughed, dusting himself off.

Scarab's powerful armored wings beat rapidly as he raised himself in the air. "As much as I hate to leave such fine company, I'm afraid I have to mingle," he said smarmily.

"No, stop Scarab!" Nefertina yelled, pulling out her whip, but he'd already disappeared through a self-made hole in the roof. Nefertina and Ja-Kal looked at one another. "So what do we do now?" the former asked.

Ja-Kal shrugged. "I guess we can't really pin anything on him. He didn't even try to hurt the prince this time."

"On the contrary," a voice behind them chimed in, "he hasn't paid his taxes in ten years."

"Rath!" Ja-Kal and Nefertina chorused.

The green-clad mummy bore a sheaf of papers. "I got bored," he said by way of explanation, "and came across some very interesting things in Scarab's personal office. It seems that Harris Stone has been cheating the IRS for some time now. Most of the profits he made from this place," Rath gestured, "were probably going towards paying off a sizeable debt he owes the American government."

"Wonderful handiwork, Rath," Ja-Kal commended.

"Wait, so that's it?" Nefertina piped up. "Scarab's a tax fraud, and now we just go home and go to bed?"

"It does seem rather anticlimactic," Rath agreed.

Just then, two slim forms bounded up the steps to the platform – Ja-Kal recognized them as the girls who had cornered the snake-avatar earlier. "Rath, we've been looking for you," one of them cooed, sticking out her lower lip in a seductive pout.

"We got lonely," the other added, batting her eyelashes. "Come dance with us," she insisted, tugging at his arm. "Let's get some of those bandages off. Nice whip," she commented, nodding at Nefertina.

"I, well, oh! Not so rough, please …" Rath cast a half-apologetic look at Ja-Kal and Nefertina, and then allowed himself to be led downstairs towards the main dance floor. On the way, he passed by Armon, also having attracted a cluster of women. "So, you work at Beefy Burger," Rath heard the larger mummy say.

Nefertina and Ja-Kal remained on the VIP platform, standing awkwardly side by side. "Sounds like Rath is having a good time," Ja-Kal intoned stiffly.

"Yeah," Nefertina replied. "He's got his own harem, practically."

"'One-stop shopping', as our prince would say," Ja-Kal continued, the joke falling flat. Nefertina wince-smiled in response. "It is nice, you know," the falcon continued. "The uh, the whip, I mean."

"It is pretty swell," Nefertina agreed, cracking the floor with it experimentally and letting out a small, throaty yell. "I don't know about you, but fighting always makes me so … overheated," she finished. This time, Ja-Kal coughed uncomfortably in response. A long moment passed in awkward silence. Suddenly, both mummies turned to one another. "Ja-Kal," Nefertina began, just as Ja-Kal said "Nefertina. I- I mean. I just –"

"Ja-Kal, do you want to get a room?" Nefertina said quickly.

"Yes, please," Ja-Kal bit out. Then there wasn't a whole lot of talking between them after that.

Presley knew his guardians had gone to the night club without him as soon as he walked into the Sphinx the next day after school, only to find them all slouched over near the television. "Man, what a gyp," he complained. "I was stuck at home watching Pay Per View and you guys had a regular night on the town."

"What is a gyp?" Armon said fuzzily, then yawned hugely..

Rath sat up from his position on the floor. "I believe it means … er … that is, well. Actually, I have no idea!" He collapsed into uncharacteristic giggles.

"Wow," Presley blinked. He turned towards Ja-Kal and Nefertina, sitting as far apart as possible on the same couch and refusing to look at one another. "I suppose you're going to tell me next that Scarab was using Chippendale dancers to try and take over the city or something?" he asked.

"They were the Shabti Strippers, actually," Rath volunteered. "But mostly all they did was dance."

"This just in," a news reporter on television was saying. "Harris J. Stone, one of San Francisco's most important self-made businessmen, was taken into custody under suspicion of tax fraud this morning, only to disappear mysteriously shortly thereafter. In an unrelated story, the Desert Delights Adult Night Club, after a very successful opening night, is already closing its doors. The area will be converted into an additional parking garage for a nearby heavily-trafficked shopping center."

"Weird," Presley commented. "My mom works with that guy sometimes. She says he can be a real jerk-off."

Ja-Kal bolted off of the couch. "I have to go," he said quickly, offering no further explanation. Rath, already having trouble keeping his composure, collapsed into a fit of laughter, only to be joined by Armon. Nefertina rolled her eyes and shut the television off, stabbing the 'power' button on the remote in an overly-aggressive manner.

Presley scratched his head and frowned. "Was it something I said?"