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As Lola roars, Remy stumbles forward and his accordion compresses in a sad WHUUUUU-NGE sound, as it falls against the teen. Pinched within some of the inner folds, now hidden within the hard handles and outer casing, is a shiny platinum pager. Remy paws the teen on the back at the same time, and tips his hat.
<< On l'a l'affaire, einh?>> he thinks to himself. Mischief managed! as he bounds amiably over to the other end of the room, clasping his accordion shut.
Mel darts forward, moving between the legs of one of the gawkers, attempting to trip the poor bastard. As they fall, he nimbly rolls out of the way, snatching their platinum pass and quickly shoving it under his straw cowboy hat.
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Stupefied at the brazen chutzpah it would take to purloin a bear's valuables in public, Izzy lurches forward — — but pauses.
The word "princely" conjures a memory: sitting on little Timmy's shoulder (gazing hungrily at the boy's ham sandwich with his large "porcelain" eyes), Izzy once watched a video of a purple "prince" spinning a ball while doing the best dance moves of all time.
A sweaty curl of dark hair falls along his forehead as Izzy leaps high into the air, stubby legs spread as wide as they will go, and arms outstretched. He reaches up, and up, and up… his fully extended claws give him the final millimeter needed to snatch the hats.
When he lands he flips the trilby atop his head and spins the crown on a finger like a basketball. The silver flashes in the spotlight like a wicked pulsar, faster and faster.
His victim fully mesmerized, Izzy tosses the tiara high into air where it continues its rotation. While the boy watches, he hops up and snatched the pass. His victim seems unaware.
He catches the tiara, and, after making a rude gesture, and moonwalks back into the crowd until he vanishes from sight.
Lola makes a desperate attempt to grab a pass off the employee who is running terrified, but only frightens the employee into running faster.
Drat. I still need one of those passes.
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As the crowd runs away, Pineapple Pizza goes for people's legs. At first he wants to trip them, then at least slow them down. But mostly he just wants to cuddle.
The bears' actions stoke the crowd into full-blown panic. The teens, guards, and other recent arrivals pour out the double doors in a screaming stream. The wails cut off abruptly when the doors bang shut.
Remy, Mel, and Izzy hold gleaming HoneyPass Platinums.
Pineapple Pizza, sprawled on the floor after his trip attempt, notices something— nestled in a depression in the celling is a camera, its glossy black eye pointed directly at him.
After a few moments, a pleasant chime sounds over the public address system. Three ascending notes give way to a British woman's refined voice.
"Good afternoon, Flow Riders. Please pardon the disturbance, but the entry hall and guest services portion of the convention are closed temporarily closed while HoneyCon staff see to guest conduct situation. Thank you for your patience and consideration."
The fleet watchman fleeing Lola doesn't see little moonwalking bear or hear the announcement; Izzy gets kneecapped in the head. Must poor Izzy labor for naught but bruises and persecution, losing treasured heirloom hats to boot!? Thus resolved, Izzy savagely jabs his assailant in the gut four times as they tumble to the floor. He stands, triumphant, on a gasping chest.
Izzy rolls his eyes down; his gaze penetrates the core of the man's deepest being. A claw hovers inches away from the human's pupil. Eyyyyyyyyyyyllll mmmmmmeeeeeeeemmmmm-bbbbbeeeeerrrrrrr eeeee-uuuuuuuuuuuuuu He runs off, unaware that a platinum pass pokes out from under the man's buttock.
He sees the camera and makes an even more obscene gesture.
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The public advisory fades, and the assembled bears can hear the downed guard wheezing as he clutches his midriff. His wide eyes flit between Izzy and the other Holy Crap, Real Actual Bears.
"Hhhhhhhhh!"
Izzy eyes the lecture halls and waves to his compatriots, pointing to the close exit. Let us perambulate to the auditorium, as if enjoying a leisurely afternoon stroll on some esplanade. A lengthy disquisition is the least likely place wild bears would willingly go — hence, the most likely place to stay hidden.
He picks up a large novelty spoon and, twirling it like a cane, strolls to the exit.
Along the way, he eyes a gift shop worker carrying a Doctor Who teddy bear (eleventh doctor). Without warning, Izzy jumps up and rakes his claws along the victim's thighs. They aren't long enough to do more than superficial damage, but they are enough to draw blood.
The startled man drops the bear and falls to the ground. Izzy rips the lovely bowtie off the bear's head, and ties it crookedly around his own neck. He whistles. The man writhes around, clutching bloody shreds of trouser. Izzy adjusts the tie and saunters off, vanishing into the chaos.
Spotting the camera, Lola growls. ”We’ll have to do something about that.”
She approaches and snaps the wiring.
"Hm. As much as I wanna scrap it up with those guards....maybe we should be going?" Mel picks up his hat, whacks it against his side a few times to dust it off, plops it off his head, and saunters off toward the lecture hall.
Lola admires her handiwork on the camera, then joins Mel.
You all walk out the door and into warm, honey-scented air, the muted roar of dozens of engines, and gentle classical music. Because of course.
Beyond the entryway is a "plaza" formed from the tops of four cargo vans driving in formation. Tractor trailers traveling alongside form the plaza's walls, from which hang purple and gold banners flapping in the breeze. Two narrow walkways extend north and east through gaps between between vehicles; from the diorama, you know that north heads towards Guest Services, and east heads towards the Lecture Halls.
Also of interest are small gaps between each of the surrounding vehicles, which probably lead to the opulent motor convoy equivalent of maintenance accesses and service tunnels.
The plaza itself is deserted in the wake of the announcement. However, at the end of the northern walkway are four regally-dressed guards chattering excitedly into earpieces. They perk up upon seeing five definitely-not-cosplayers exit the entry hall, and put hands to sidearms.
Remy angles his bowler down and flips up the collar on his oversized red flannel shirt, and ducks into a service tunnel.
"Queegly, hover 'ere! Dees way!"
Hat pulled low, Mel saunters after Remy, trying to look nonchalant.
His claws click on the ground and he stumbles into things, unaccustomed and ill-suited as he is to walking on just his hind legs.