Little V, recovering from his coughing fit, kept up his footwork retreating to the back of the room. Having suitably amused himself for the moment, he puts away his weapon. Whilst his two friends continue to struggle with their nasal onslaughts, Little V continues rummaging through mounds of old news papers, dust-covered clothes, and decaying cardboard boxes before excavating a red motorcycle helmet. Missing the V, however beggars can't be choosers can they? Blowing dust off the visor, the avian smiles seeing his dull reflection in the glass. Still in great condition.
Unbeknownst to him, the pile of cardboard boxes behind him begins to teeter. He holds the helmet up high before lowering it atop his head, yellow unruly plumage engulfed by a luminous red hot finish.Grinning, he takes a wide stance, his middle finger, thumb, and pinkie stick out from his right hand which he then raises high in the air.
"HENSHIN A-GO-GO, BABY!"
Dust continues to cascade from the precarious monolith of boxes behind him. The scent of rotting cardboard fills the air. Oblivious as ever, the conure continues to take on rather...theatrical poses. "You want some? Well, come and---NGHh!"Within a matter of seconds a certain Viewtiful bird finds himself engulfed by an avalanche of rotting cardboard. Occasionally a tail feather will poke through the surface, but soon all movement seems to stop. Quite the embarrassing obituary, lost at attic.
Suddenly, movement below the surface, a quick jerk and a few boxes shuffle out of place, accompanied by a strained "Hih-Hehh--KT'sch!" And another, and another...
Eventually our red-clad hero emerges, graceful as ever; crawling out of the wreckage short of breath before proudly declaring, "I'm alive!"