"Now, Moptop! Kick them open!"
Moptop was in the midst of a horrible garden party that was taking place in his backyard against his will, but Mearle had subversively placed two egg-like canisters in the grass. Moptop didn't precisely know her plan, but he kicked both of them, causing them to shatter. A cloud of green gas billowed out of the broken eggs, choking the party-goers.
"Run, Moptop! Run to Miskatonic!"
Moptop had already started running, but stopped in his tracks.
"Miskatonic? Hell no! I'm not going there."
The party-goers, however, began to chase him before he could continue protesting, so he sprinted across the yard and jumped over the fence.
Though he only seemed to run a few blocks, passing familiar scenery, he suddenly came across a small motel that appeared to be on the Mexican border and slipped inside.
"This could be a good place to hide for a moment," Moptop thought. He didn't want to actually get a room there--he likely couldn't afford it, anyway--but he could sit in the lobby and formulate a plan. Perhaps he could steal some fruit from the kitchen and have some food for the road, as well. He wandered into a back lounge where he saw Moptop II, the gay man who shared his name, playing a piano. This struck Moptop as odd on several levels. Near the back of the room was an old cigarette machine, and Moptop considered buying a pack to celebrate the strange freedom that this flight allowed him. However, he decided this would not be a good use of his meager funds. Focusing back on his plan, Moptop pulled out his phone, only to find that it was dead. Cringing, he realized that he would have to return to his house to retrieve its power supply. Complications had already arisen.
Sneaking out the back door and down the stairs, Moptop nearly bumped into a member of the motel staff, who looked at him with great surprise, then spoke. Moptop felt a rush of anxiety through his body. This man spoke only Spanish. Moptop would have to attempt to use his feeble grasp on the language.
"Uh, perdón." Off to a great start. "Estoy . . . estoy . . . llamar a mí . . . uh . . . casa."
The man looked at Moptop skeptically.
Just then, Moptop saw Sloacula ascending an adjacent set of stairs. "Moptop?" he said. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, hey!" Moptop replied. "Hang on." Moptop turned back to the staff worker. "Lo siento." Moptop felt slightly saddened that he easily remembered how to say "I'm sorry."
"Estoy llamar con . . . uh. . . ." Moptop resorted to simply pointing at Sloacula. "He's my friend."
"Oh, he's your friend?" the man asked. Moptop was furious to realize the man could speak English all along, and was probably just watching Moptop flounder for his own amusement.
"YOU BASTARD!"
