Mary Rose Sister Cat Baxter is my self-insert (in love with Razor Rex, doesn't have much else going on right now). You too can give ninety percent of your income to Razor Rex by supporting Paranatural on Patreon, which allows her to exist. Thank you.

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[Transcript]

        The Hijacks scanned their strange surroundings in bewilderment. The room, no doubt austere in the daylight, had been compromised by countless tacky, priceless decorations. Every surface gleamed with glitter made from precious stones crushed down to precious dust; half-eaten catering and half-eaten caterers were strewn about fine tables pushed aside to claim more dance floor; Zoo Pals-style plates depicting the skeletal spider logo of the Phantom Threat Authority sat unattended, flecked with crumbs of caviar.

        As Cody skulked through the crowd, the Hijacks followed the young vampire’s eyes back to his father, who’d torn his tie free (ignoring the lessons of ZZ Top’s song) while he belted out the chorus.

        “BITE ME!” begged an audience member. The words would have read as heckling at any other concert, but here the world was turned on its head, as if witnessed by a bat upon the ceiling. “CHIEF, BITE ME PLEEEASE!”

        As they made a move to climb on stage, security tackled the overenthusiastic fan, dragged them away, and messily devoured them.

        Cody leered past the violence and his father, focused on the curtain just behind him. Davy’s beefiest boys were posted every ten feet of its flowing, pitch-black folds. They were all undead, pale and fanged, and yet not one pair of eyes had strayed from the sweeping path of their patrol, despite the bloodshed just beside them—Cody recognized a compulsory vampire command in action when he saw it. Something vital was backstage. Something vulnerable...

        “...Let’s find somewhere to huddle,” Cody whispered to the Hijacks.

        “HEYYY, your UNHOLINESS!~<3” Across the ballroom, Miss Baxter was mid-saunter on a beeline towards her goddess. “Look what the CAT dragged INNNNN!”

        She had no qualms about pilfering Sophie’s earlier quip; it was a tired line in the first place, and the ungrateful Sister Mouse had slipped away about as soon as Rose had helped her get inside. Now her only plus-one was the Mandrake. Ugh! Sometimes it felt like her old classmate was more interested in the benefits of their relationship than the friendship—Sophie had barely scraped the surface of her bottomless mimosas last Sunday, and she’d only sent a card for Rose’s cat’s most recent birthday.

        “ROTATE ME,” Razor Rex demanded. She’d draped herself upon a throne of bone while waiting for a minion to reboot her softlocked console. “I WISH TO SEE WHAT IT IS THE CAT HAS DRAGGED IN.”

        The cultists and skeletons holding up her palanquin scrambled to comply, struggling to find traction on the ballroom’s polished floor. Razor Rex gnashed her canine canines in frustration.

        “FIRST YOU CAN’T TURN ON MY XBOX THREE-SIXTY. NOW YOU CAN’T TURN A QUICK, CAKEWALK ONE-EIGHTY?? THE DEGREE OF EFFORT YOU DELIVER SHOULD BE DOUBLED WITH EACH FAILURE, NOT HALVED... YOU WORTHLESS CHURLS!” Razor Rex howled in fury. “WHAT’S NEXT—ONLY NINETY PERCENT OF YOUR INCOME AND FREE TIME PUT INTO MY WONDERFUL CHURCH?!”

        Math was so much less dull when an evil goddess was screaming it at her servants, Miss Baxter considered in worshipful bliss, waiting cheerfully for Razor Rex’s tantrum to subside.

        “WELL, I’LL SHOW YOU HALVED! I’LL SHOW YOU ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY DEGREES!”

        Cultists screeched in gratitude as Razor Rex swept her scythe and belched blue flame out through their ranks. Miraculously, there were only a few stray injuries in the aftermath... but then, Razor Rex was always working miracles. The flames were a recent addition to the repertoire, but she could also revive the dead, bestow incredible boons, fly, disappear—there seemed to be no limit to her power.

        “KYA-HA HA HA—OH! RIGHT, RIGHT. SISTER CAT.” The Death Cult’s goddess had remembered Rose at last. “THOU HAST A TREAT FOR ME, MY FAITHFUL FREAK?”

        Sister Cat fell to her knees while tossing her hair back like an extra in a music video, a gesture of sultry subservience that everyone besides Razor Rex thought was honestly a little bit much.

        “Don’t I always?” Rose purred, holding out the gleaming trophy she still carried. There was an exchanging of meows and much pawing at the air between the cringe math teacher and her goddess, which escalated into a secret handshake and/or genuine hissing and clawing. It was hard to say, and hard to watch; somehow, Sister Cat’s enthusiasm made it clear that she didn’t really have much else going on in her life at the moment.

        “WHAT A GIFT! A WEIRD BALL,” clattered Razor Rex, emerging from their feline fisticuffs with Coach Oop in her grasp. “YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE!” Her eyes sparked with blue flame and wept black candle wax. “YOU SHOULDN’T HAAAAVE!!” she roared, raising her scythe.

        “No, your silliness, that’s not your gift! THIS is your gift!” Baxter blithely raised the trophy. “Oh! And that ball is, um. That’s Coach—Brother Ape.”

        “COACH BROTHER APE?!” the goddess gasped. To her credit, she spun on the Mandrake at once, without a need, it seemed, to pause and ponder what had happened. “THE MANDRAKE, MY OLDEST MINION—DID YOU BALL MY BOY?? ET TU, JUDAS?! YOU TEAMKILLING TRAITOR!”

        “Wait! I can explain!” Sister Cat threw herself between the Mandrake and her goddess, twisting from one saucy photoshoot sprawl to the next. “Take me instead!~<3”

        “WHAT. OKAY. ACTUALLY NO, JUST EXPLAIN. JUST THE HIGHLIGHTS.”

        And explain Miss Baxter did, between this page and the next.