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Zyta observed the tiny objects -- a needle and thread? Sounded like a logical thing for a busted plushie to want. Hopefully the thing could sew itself up, though.
"Very good, sekkar. According to General Kat, this could be what we need to get rid of the ones on the outside, at least. Whoever is loyal to that blasted thing. Come with us!"

The striped sarnin was off, gliding through the Observatory and up the stairs in a shake. She musceled her way through the opening that lead to the outside, while also trying to keep as many plushies as possible on the outside. Impish little creatons!

After all of that was settled and they "safely" (realtive term) flew above the Observatory, they pinpointed the EBIL STUFFING one's location. Trusting Elysia to hold on tight, she dived down towards it's location.

---

Back with the cosplay fairy, he had finally gotten his senses back to normal working order -- and he liked what he saw.

"My hat," he chuckled, enjoying the girly yelling. After amusing himself for a few moments, he spoke up again, "If you never come back... then okay." No use worrying about the security of one's hat all of the time, after all. Aida pulled back.

Round Nine - The Trouble with Tribbles Plushies

Zyta's attempts are really quite admirable. To fend away the hordes of plushies, only to fly after their leader, well... and her plan really might have worked out all right in the end, if the door hadn't exploded outward with the pressure of a hundred plushies all leaning on it at once but minutes after the Sarnin had pulled it shut again.

The plushies bump against each other as they essentially fall into the Observatory -- and that isn't a bad word to use, either, for down the steps they go bouncing, rebounding off walls and spilling into the lobby, cackling madly to themselves all the while.

Kat, poring over the contents of her box alongside the mysterious stranger and the cosplaying Sarling, straightens up to notice the growing pool of giggling plushies; she shrieks loudly enough to rival even the loudest of these, and stoops once to pluck up a plastic cocktail sword from the recesses of the cardboard, and then she charges, all madness and impulse and instinct dressed in a tutu and a horned helmet.

They meet, and... well, people will always yield to their superiors, the plushies: and thusly she does, engulfed in a wave of them, plastic sword or no. Even the pirates and ninjas have stopped their feuding to watch, each side curious to see how Kat's Army will handle this horde... and although they may have enough time on their pink plush paws to interest themselves with such things, the Frenchplush most certainly does not.

It flings up its stubby arms over its button eyes, and one might notice that its stitched-on mustache is coming loose by gradual degrees, flapping from its face. "Oui, oui! Call eet off, monsieur, and I and my kind will never bother you again! I swear eet, on my miserable fluff-filled life!" The very instant Aida pulls back, however, the plushie flies for Phantom's face, intent on reclaiming his beret through any means at his disposal. "HA HA, MEESTER FEERIE! NEVER TRUST A FRENCHMAN!"

And as for Djin, well... sometimes, apparently, brute strength does conquer. There aren't very many plushies on the roof, now -- most have spilled through the door and down the steps, the former of which is still swinging open -- but what few there are roll aside and off the roof entirely, descending to the ground some distance below with shrill squeals of demented laughter.

The shredded leader of the plushies stands high atop its heap, with its followers pressing themselves diligently against a window that is slowly giving, giving, giving... with the vague approach of Sarnins and Sarlings, however, it whirls to face them, button eyes narrowed. It would really be quite intimidating, if it weren't... a plushie, of course.

"Of course, sarling!" Zyta snapped, angry at herself and the entire situation. Now this plan had to work, or those inside would be overrun in no time. "Take the items, Valteil. We're going ourselves. Elysia -- stay near Djin and his friend, they'll keep you safe."

The fire sarnin launched from the roof, cutting through the air towards the leader. "A prize from us to you!" she annouced above him, signaling for Valteil to flutter down the items.

----

Oh, how Phantom KNEW not to trust Frenchmen now. He clung desperately to the cap, hoping it wasn't too late.

Final Round - Y'all Come Back Now, Y'Hear?

"Arr, lass!" squeals the pirate plushie upon being apprehended -- it is, in fact, the one with the stuffed parrot swinging wildly from its shoulder. "Ye! Ye lassie! Are ye one o' dem pleasemen, are ye, lassie? I ain't been doin' nothing wrong! ...Arr, mebbe a lil' stealin' here, some plunderin' there, but..." The other pirates make to rescue their stolen comrade, but such heroic efforts are in vain, for there comes an interruption --

Above, on the roof, there is taking place an event that will surely making Observatory history. The torn plush's button eyes widen upon sight of the "prizes"; it holds out both stubby arms, catching the needle and thread as easily as though it had plotted the course of their descent for hours. There is a brief, reverent moment in which the plushie stares unblinkingly at the spool of thread, and then the needle, nuzzling its plush cheek against each of them in turn...

...and then it gazes up at the Sarnin and Sekkar, almost... smiling? "Aye," says the plush, slipping away the spool and needle into a pocket of its leg, torn off almost completely but for a few stitches. "So ye conclude the deal." By gradual degrees, the plushies beneath it have stopped hammering on the glass, although it continues to crack; the leader snaps a harsh reprimand, in some language that sounds like rustling fabric, and the entire heap -- and the two across the way -- abruptly sway back, falling, falling in what seems to be slow motion...

Inside, Soleil pauses in the back-breaking work of digging out his beloved ballerina from beneath the cascading wave of plushies. Said wave has stopped moving, stopped thrashing and flailing and giggling to themselves; they are rather like the plushies they are supposed to be, now, pieces of material stuffed with fluff, with buttons sewn on for good measure. Something behind Soleil howls "SACRE BLEU!" and a flash of pink goes tearing past his head, devoid of the beret it had come for -- but his attention is elsewhere, fixed upon this horde that is receding.

And there is Kat after all, sprawled on her back and twitching, grinning madly, muttering to the ceiling about cowboys and indians and waving her plastic cocktail sword vaguely. She points said sword at Soleil's nose, who sneezes in reply. It seems that all of the plushies within the Observatory have taken immediate leave -- even the ninjas are skulking out, silently of course (BECAUSE THEY ARE NINJAS), and the pirates are following them, laughing drunkenly and carousing. The only plushie that hasn't yet left -- and won't -- is clutched between the paws of one Moonlight Sarling, sobbing about its mommeh.

The towering heaps of piled plushies are still falling, and the leader shouts, "WE'LL REMEMBER YE!"

And then they disappear entirely, leaving behind nothing but a puff of pink smoke and the distinct feeling that, despite all of this -- despite the mass disappearance, despite the promises -- that despite all of this, the Observatory's dealings with Kat's Pink Plushie Godzillas are far, far from over.

((*applauds*))