Xerxo/Dialogue

==ATX_COMP_Quest_Camp_Lite_Ghoul==
#	Dialog Topic	Form ID	Response Text 	Script Notes
 	 	 	The Zebulonians weren't the first to develop advanced probing technology, but we definitely are the ones who perfected it. 	
 	 	 	We've got machines that can probe 100,000 organisms per second, and serve you ice cream when you're done. 	
 	 	 	You know that comic about the Unstoppables visiting the Ux-Ron galaxy? Complete fabrication. 	
 	 	 	They visited the Ux-Ray galaxy, and it wasn't the Unstoppables, it was the Immovables. Tell your historians to get it right next time. 	
 	 	 	What you call food on this planet is a disgrace. But the alcohol? Well, let's just say I'll be filing a Zebulonian copyright for all your drinks very soon. 	
 	 	 	Zebulonians used to molt, much like your snakes. But now we simply discard the skin and hang it in our closets as a memory of our youth. 	
 	 	 	If you need any help relaxing, I can show you an ancient Zebulonian meditation technique. It involves heavy drinking and vomiting out negative energies. 	
 	 	 	The gravity on this planet is so weird. My xer-joints, or what you humans call knees, they hurt so much when I have to stand for long hours. 	
 	 	 	Greetings Earthling. I am Xerxo, son of Xarlax, captain of the starship Voxthaltha of the Zebulon Empire. 	
 	 	 	There are 10,000 starships in the Zebulonian fleet, each one equipped with the latest in interstellar missile technology and a dozen private chefs. 	
 	 	 	I'll have you know I've flipped no less than ten planets in the last year alone. I'm not just a starship captain, I'm a renowned intergalactic realtor. 	
 	 	 	Every doctor in the Zebulon Empire learns to probe their first species by the age of ten. It's part of their rite of passage. 	
 	 	 	As a starship captain, I've seen my share of abductions. Super Mutants, Sheepsquatches... we've studied them all. 	
 	 	 	Our studies show the most intelligent being on this planet is actually a Mole Miner. Yet they want me to bargain with humans instead. 	
 	 	 	We Zebulonians have long since evolved past the need for skin. Our insides aren't so weak that they need to be covered. 	
 	 	 	I'll have you know the moonshine on this planet is its only redeeming quality. 	
 	 	 	My superiors are mostly hands off, but tentacles on. Tentacles tend to stick better, and keep you working. 	
 	 	 	Doing an audit of an entire planet is incredibly hard. You never know when one of you might blow it up again. 	
 	 	 	Space travel isn't very difficult. Time travel, even easier. But this "walking" these Earthlings are so fond of? It's killing me! 	
 	 	 	I've met a few people on this planet that I mistook for Zebulonians. But apparently they're something called "ghouls". 	
 	 	 	Twenty days until retirement and I get tasked with flipping this shitshow of a planet. Can you believe my luck? 	
 	 	 	Until they sent me here, I was going to retire and live on a beach on the planet Ur-Vox. Just me, the sand, the ocean, and those rings of color just like a rainbow. 	Wistful
 	 	 	There's eighty other planets I'd rather be on than this one. However, it still has its perks. 	
 	 	 	Sometimes I look at your sunsets and think to myself, oh, this planet is going to look fabulous when it's furnished. I really should remember to factor that into the price.	
 	 	 	I have family on Zebulon. We communicate daily via telepathy. The long distance charges are out of this world, but it's certainly worth it. 	
 	 	 	I'm going to miss a lot of my childrens' milestones. When they play their first Zorxball game. When they fire their first ray gun. Prom. 	
 	 	 	Oy vey, one of my backs is killing me. 	
 	 	 	Earthling. 	
 	 	 	What a day. I could use a xartini. Ooo...or better yet, Earth whiskey. 	
 	 	 	When you have 47 stomachs, it's hard to tell which one has indigestion. 	
 	 	 	The air here is toxic to three of my lungs. Good thing I can shed them easily. 	
 	 	 	Vaya con Dios, Earthling. 	
 	 	 	Until our next encounter. 	
 	 	 	So long. 	
 	 	 	All Zebulonian technology is delivered through one's face holes. It provides the most impact. 	Gentle, almost apologetic, but doctor-like "It is what it is" tone
 	 	 	It's simple. The shot from my ray gun will rewrite your particles with that of a kangaroo and the DNA of an Olympic gold medalist in the long jump. 	
 	 	 	The effects will be temporary, but should be felt almost immediately. Just try it, and you'll see. 	
 	 	 	Of course, Earthling. 	
 	 	 	If we must. 	
 	 	 	What remains to be discussed? 	
 	 	 	Thank you. You know, many Earthlings are hostile to our kind. They call us names like "ghoul," or "crazy person," or "stop, thief!" 	Appreciative, warming up
 	 	 	But me, I ignore all of these taunts, for the sake of my mission: the invasion and complete subjugation of your planet. 	Tone shifts to something matter-of-fact and somewhat sinister
 	 	 	There is no need, Earthling. I have already met him and eaten him, as is required by Zebulon law. 	Appreciative and matter-of-fact
 	 	 	Before digesting him in one of my 47 stomachs, I made sure to slather plenty of barbecue sauce on his forehead, just the way you humans like it. 	
 	 	 	We're not barbarians, after all. We may plan on invading and subjugating your entire species, but we do respect your customs. 	Genuine and earnest
 	 	 	That was your first mistake. Thinking. But please rest assured, you won't have to think any longer, once we invade and subjugate your people. 	
 	 	 	In fact, thinking will likely be made a crime punishable by death, followed of course by having to watch a series of instructional videos. 	
 	 	 	Given that there are 1,757 stages of hell in the Zebulon afterlife, you will have ample time to watch these videos and reflect on your mistakes. 	
 	 	 	Maybe for you. But I take no joy in the complete domination of your species. 	Earnest, matter-of-fact.
 	 	 	I am simply required by intergalactic law to read you the terms and conditions of your surrender. 	
 	 	 	If not for that, we would not be having this conversation, because I would be drinking a xartini and you would be a pile of goo. 	
 	 	 	That may be how it works in your culture, but Zebulonians do not engage in your primitive rituals of dinner, movies, and inane small talk. 	Aloof
 	 	 	When we see something we want, we form an exploratory committee on the 25th of Dexember, to summon the God of War, Xanta. 	
 	 	 	Xanta then creates a list of planets that have been naughty, and nice. The naughty ones we invade. And your planet has been...so naughty. 	
 	 	 	Should we wait until you screw it up even more? 	Bemused, aloof
 	 	 	Relax, Earthling. We don't plan on staying long. Your planet is what they call in the intergalactic market, a "fixer upper." 	
 	 	 	We plan on cleaning it, renovating it, and then flipping it to the Martians at twice the cost. 	
 	 	 	Yes. A real estate empire. What kind of empire were you imagining? No doubt one that reflects your failings as a species. 	Exasperated,
 	 	 	Oh yes. Martian sand is quite valuable in the Andromeda Galaxy. It is the source of the Empire's early wealth. They use our sand in hourglasses, you know. 	
 	 	 	They say using Martian sand is more precise than an atomic clock. Of course, it's all just a scam. Anyone with 19 brains knows that time isn't real. 	
 	 	 	Don't make me laugh. Your currency is no good on the intergalactic market. We don't use inefficient, primitive methods of exchange like bottlecaps. 	
 	 	 	All of our transactions are performed using ions, transferred via clouds of gas we exhale using specialized glands. 	
 	 	 	There's no need for you to respond. At least, not unless you've been chosen as Supreme Leader, at which point I will need you to formally surrender. 	
 	 	 	What's the matter with you, are you some kind of communist? You Earthlings should know that everything can be bought and sold, even this conversation. 	
 	 	 	I'm actually recording this on a holotape right now, and will be putting it up for auction this very evening. 	
 	 	 	Hopefully you don't say anything idiotic and tank the value. 	
 	 	 	I will do my best, but this is hardly a vacation. Once the Zebulon fleet arrives, you'll see. 	
 	 	 	Good. I'm glad you're able to see the forest for the trees, even though you burned half of them down. 	
 	 	 	Don't worry, I would never touch anything you Earthlings have put your sausage-like tentacles on. 	Aloof, mildly disgusted at the thought
 	 	 	Anyway, there's still some paperwork I need to file for closing escrow on the planet, so if you need me, I'll be on my spaceship. 	
 	 	 	Normally I don't do this, but in exchange for letting me park my spaceship here, I'm willing to rewrite the rules. 	
 	 	 	I know intergalactic parking fees can be exorbitant, so don't think I don't appreciate your gesture. 	
 	 	 	And if you want to learn the secrets of intergalactic space flight, I can help with that too. 	Hints of pride
 	 	 	All right, Earthling. What do you need? 	
 	 	 	Very well. Proceed with your inquiry, Earthling. 	
 	 	 	Besides the marshmallow center? 	
 	 	 	Besides the caramel-filled crust? 	
 	 	 	Besides the mole people living in the clouds? 	
 	 	 	You mean, aside from the strange smells emanating from the occupants? 	
 	 	 	Besides the odd noise it makes when it rotates? 	
 	 	 	Besides the fact that it's an intergalactic tax haven? 	
 	 	 	The very best in Zebulonian technology. 	
 	 	 	Premium Zebulonian wares, at premium prices. 	
 	 	 	This transaction is classified, you understand me? 	Serious
 	 	 	Everything you see here, as long as it's visible. 	
 	 	 	Simple. By shooting you in the face. 	
 	 	 	Your memory's failing you Earthling. You've already got your gamma ray shot. 	
 	 	 	One burst of gamma rays, coming right up. 	
 	 	 	Then you'll get it. Right in the puddum. 	
 	 	 	Just remember to watch your landings. 	
 	 	 	Close your eyes and I'll count to three. One... 	
 	 	 	Very well, Earthling. I'll be sure to calibrate my weapon to your flesh settings. 	
 	 	 	Oh, I wouldn't worry. By intergalactic standards, you're about two million xorbits below the poverty line. It really doesn't get much worse than that. 	Pronounced "zor-bits".
 	 	 	Fine, but there's nothing dangerous about it. 	Gently persuasive, disarming
 	 	 	Perhaps I should explain further. 	
 	 	 	It does not say "Blast." The symbols merely resemble your language, and it's confusing you. 	
 	 	 	What appears to you as letters are in fact ancient Zebulonian runes that spell the name "Xerxo." 	
 	 	 	Before we begin the invasion and close escrow on your planet, some reconnaissance and an appraisal needs to be done. 	
 	 	 	I am here studying your people, and perhaps, if the opportunity avails itself, mate with them. 	
 	 	 	Yes, Earthling. For allowing me to stay at your camp, I have decided to generously give you our most distinguished award: the Zebulonian Medal of Honor. Here. 	
 	 	 	Zebulonians do not forget. We have 38 brains, each one working independently to remember the time you didn't pay your fair share for dinner 	
 	 	 	Mary chipped in, and she barely ate. But you! You ate half the food, and conveniently "forgot" your wallet at home. 	His mask slips, begins to reference his past life
 	 	 	Everyone else may have forgot that minor transgression, but little brain number 36 didn't. 	Back to his Xerxo self
 	 	 	Well, that is an understandable deduction for a species that uses their own clothing as a napkin. 	Aloof
 	 	 	But make no mistake. My suit says Xerxo, just like your clothes scream out, "wash me." 	
 	 	 	An understandable deduction for a species that collects trash and then displays it in their museums as art. 	Aloof
 	 	 	But make no mistake, my suit says Xerxo. You're just having trouble telling the difference. 	
 	 	 	An understandable deduction for someone that can only think using Earthling languages. 	Aloof
 	 	 	But no, it doesn't. My suit says Xerxo, just as your clothes clearly say, "hardly working." 	
 	 	 	Well, the other day, I did have something you Earthlings call, a "dream." 	
 	 	 	I had switched my brain organs to sleep mode when I was suddenly bombarded by a strange visual. 	
 	 	 	It was of a tall man in a spacesuit, walking on a stage. And in the background, there was a voice that said, "Elliot, break a leg." 	Xerxo's mask begins to slip
 	 	 	And perhaps this Elliot is a real person - a shell of himself, trying to find a way to cope in a world he simply does not understand. 	Xerxo's mask slips further.
 	 	 	But given that my name is Xerxo, and I've never broken either of my legs, my dream was clearly about someone else. 	Back to Xerxo, straightens up, but rattled by the conversation
 	 	 	I've never heard of it, and no one has ever referred to me as a verb of any kind. 	
 	 	 	I told the writers it was a stupid name, but do they listen to old Elliot? No. They tell him, "you do your job, and we'll do ours." 	Xerxo's mask slips, becomes Elliot momentarily
 	 	 	Well, now I'm doing the job of invading this backwater planet, so the joke's on them. 	Back to Xerxo, straightens up.
 	 	 	Do you think I take pleasure in this mission? I simply do what I must, for the sake of the Empire. 	
 	 	 	If that means performing the ancient Zebulonian love dance with one of your high ranking diplomats, so be it. 	
 	 	 	Well, as flattered as I am by the proposition, I'm only allowed to perform the ancient Zebulonian love dance with high ranking government officials. 	
 	 	 	If you would like, however, we can stand near each other, and exchange nearby gases. I understand that is what qualifies as intimacy among your species. 	In a "want to grab a cup of coffee?" type of casual tone
 	 	 	Because that is how you Earthlings reveal your secrets. By being seduced, letting your guard down, and then whispering them in your sleep. 	Confused at the question. A sort of "duh, of course" tone.
 	 	 	I've studied enough of your primitive spy cartridges to know of this fact. 	
 	 	 	Then I will continue as I have. Studying, appraising, and reading your amazing romance literature. 	
 	 	 	Just because I am not participating in your primitive mating rituals doesn't mean I shouldn't be well prepared for the scenario. 	
 	 	 	No, it only looks like that to your untrained eye. 	Like an enthusiastic professor
 	 	 	Now, while it is similar to your toilet paper in look, feel, and two-ply softness, I assure you, it is made of authentic Zebulonian eagle feathers. 	Beaming with pride
 	 	 	You should. It's only been given to a non-Zebulonian on two occasions. One to a Zambonian who stopped the Ice Insurrection on the Planet Hockeystick. 	
 	 	 	And the second, to the Scorchbeast Queen that ravaged your planet and helped reduce the asking price. 	
 	 	 	What you do with the medal is your own business. Usually while sitting, with the door closed. But either way, it's an honor well deserved. 	
 	 	 	Now go on, before I get all misty-eyed. 	
 	 	 	Yes, a few things. But perhaps you can tell me more. 	
 	 	 	Of course! I know all about Dr. Zornhole and his infamous jog. 	
 	 	 	Do you think that just because I'm a space captain, brilliant military tactician, and devilishly handsome, that I am not also a student of history? 	
 	 	 	I know all about that piece of Earthist propaganda. 	
 	 	 	Yes. Almost... too close. 	
 	 	 	That's what I said. 	
 	 	 	You cannot correct me. I am a Zebulonian, and you are not. That makes me right, and you wrong. 	
 	 	 	I so hate to disappoint you, but your hero is a fraud. 	Weary
 	 	 	He'd like you to think it was a run. But if you look at the tape, you'll see that he's actually jogging and the tape has simply been sped up. 	Weary
 	 	 	It depicts the Zebulon Empire as evil, the Neptunians as Earth slaves, and worst of all, Blast Hannigan as a hero. 	
 	 	 	Well for one, Blast Hannigan isn't a real name. It can't be. What kind of monster would name their child "Blast?" 	
 	 	 	Only a Hollywood director could conceive of such cruelty. 	
 	 	 	The rest is more or less true to reality, except we were liberators, and the colonists were from Uranus. They always are. 	
 	 	 	Meanwhile, Earthlings had nothing to do with the incident, and yet they still plaster their names all over the credits. Typical. 	
 	 	 	Blast Hannigan doesn't even exist. He's an Earthling creation, through and through. 	Letting the player down softly
 	 	 	The simplest explanation is quite often the right one. The Neptunian media probably leaked it to your press. 	Matter-of-fact
 	 	 	Good. And trust me, it's not worth watching. The acting is atrocious. 	
 	 	 	The Zebulonian runes on my suit spell "Xerxo". They're the same runes you'll find on my intergalactic pilot's license. 	
 	 	 	A change of subject would be most welcome. 	
==COMP_NonOwningPlayerDialogue==
#	Dialog Topic	Form ID	Response Text 	Script Notes
 	 	 	What is it, Earthling? 	
 	 	 	Need something, Earthling? I'm rather busy.	
 	 	 	 	
Category:Night of the Moth dialogue files
ru:ATX COMP Actor Lite Ghoul