Chapter 164: Book 3 Chapter 15.1: Late Night with Vell Harlan

“At least you look good in the suit,” Harley noted.

“Still hate this,” Vell grumbled. He peeked past the curtain at the desk that was soon to be his. Just looking at it made him nervous. “You’re way more charismatic, shouldn’t this be your gig?”

“Listen, we know what the guy likes, we’ve got to pander,” Harley said. “Just keep Jack distracted until Lee figures out the banishing ritual.”

“Yeah, cool, great, I can do that, just, uh, keep the world’s most infamous serial killer preoccupied,” Vell said. The soul of Jack the Ripper had somehow found its way back to Earth from wherever souls went, and now threatened to begin a new killing spree. Thankfully, on the previous loop, the loopers had discovered something Jack had an odd obsession with that could be used to distract him.

“You’re on in five,” the producer said. “Four, three…”

“Break a leg, Harlan!”

Harley shoved Vell past the curtain, onto the stage, as his intro music swelled and the announcer started his spiel.

“Hello and welcome to tonight’s episode of Late Night with Vell Harlan!”

The tacky intro music continued to play as Vell stepped, smiling and waving to his brand new audience, with Jack the Ripper sitting front and center, applauding furiously. For reasons impossible to comprehend, the Ripper was enchanted by late night talk shows. The loopers had teamed up with the school’s AV and Broadcasting department to produce their own special programming just to keep the Ripper distracted. The negotiations had gone surprisingly well, since the AV guys had apparently been looking for a new show for a while anyway. A few members of the department were in the audience now, giving Vell the all-clear. He tried to focus on them instead of the undead serial killer also in the audience as he started his monologue.

“Hey, folks, howdy, welcome to our first ever show,” Vell said. “And at the rate I’m going, our last ever show, so you’ve picked a good time to get on board.”

That elicited a few bemused chuckles -and some uproarious laughter from Jack the Ripper. The fact that a serial killer found him hilarious elicited some mixed emotions in Vell. He really wished Harley could be up here, but all the late night shows that had distracted Jack had male hosts, and they didn’t want to mess with the formula. Also, given Jack’s history of horrifically mauling women, it was safe to say he was not a feminist in general.

“We’ve got as great show lined up tonight, we’ve got special guests, we’ve got music-”

“We don’t have music.”

Vell looked sideways at the producer, standing just offstage. They shrugged.

“We don’t have music? These kinds of things always have music,” Vell said. He glanced at Jack and found that the Ripper looked a little upset. “And we are going to have music! A surprise musical guest. Probably. Harley, do something.”

Harley sprinted into action, leaving Vell to kill time once again.

“Okay, let me introduce my first guest, she’s one of the Einstein-Odinson Academy’s brightest students, in that she is literally illuminated, it’s Kim E. Komi!”

Though Vell had been shanghai’d into the role of host, he wasn’t just going to sit back and let the rest of the loopers escape this shenanigan unscathed. Kim was playing the role of his first guest, much to her chagrin. Her digital face feigned casual happiness as she strolled onto the set and took a seat opposite Vell’s hosting desk.

“Evening, Kim, thanks for joining us.”

“Happy to be here, Vell,” Kim lied.

“So, let’s just start with the question that I’m sure is on everyone’s mind,” Vell said. “You’re a robot. What’s that like?”

“I don’t know, Vell, you’re a human, what’s that like?”

“Uncomfortable, mostly.”

“Oh. Same.”

The audience laughed, and Vell took the time to change gears.

“But on a purely mechanical note, you have been customizing yourself a lot,” Vell said. Kim had been building and rebuilding her body all year, adding new systems and improving old ones whenever the mood struck her. “Any long term goals or notable features?”

“I don’t really plan things, honestly, I’m just kind of going wild in there,” Kim said. She tapped her knuckles against her chest, creating a metallic clanging sound. “I’ve got a coffee maker in here right now.”

“Oh, neat. Can we see it?”

Kim turned towards the camera and opened a hatch on her chest, revealing a square cavity containing small nozzle and a stack of paper cups. Kim grabbed one of the cups and filled it with piping hot coffee before putting the cup on Vell’s desk.

“Enjoy.”

The crowd went silent for a minute as Vell stared at the cup of coffee.

“I’m, uh, I’m not drinking that.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Oh, come on,” Kim said. “Drink it.”

“Drink it! Drink it!”

The audience repeated her words once, twice, and then it turned into a full-on chant. Some of the viewers were even pounding their fists against the arms of their chairs as they chanted. Jack the Ripper was chanting louder and more fervently than any of the others, and the look in his eyes started to make Vell nervous.

“Okay, okay,” Vell said. “I’ll try your weird heart coffee.”

“There’s nothing weird about it, it’s literally just a coffee machine you’d buy at a department store,” Kim said. “Except I disassembled it and installed it into my chest cavity.”

“Not helping.”

After taking a moment to psyche himself up, and to let the coffee cool, Vell grabbed the cup and raised it contemplatively to his lips. The crowd cheered when he finally dared to take a sip and visibly pondered the taste.

“Eugh. Black coffee,” Vell said. He should’ve thought of that before drinking.

“I have some cream and sugar, if you want,” Kim said.

“Which body part is that stored in?”

“One way to find out.”

“Right. No thanks,” Vell said. “It’s like ten PM. I have to go to sleep eventually, you know.”

“Yeah. I haven’t got any decaf anyway.”

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“Alright, thank you Freddy Frizzle, for showing us all your incredible doohickey, which only exploded a little bit,” Vell said. He brushed some ash off his coat as Freddy rolled his machine away.

After Kim’s interview had started to drag on a little long, Vell had called in his next guest—then the next one, and the next one, and the next one. He was starting to run out of pre-planned appearances and was just having Harley call random friends to see who was willing to show up. The audience was enjoying the impromptu interviews, at least.

“Okay, next up on our docket, it’s, let me see...my old roommate Cane!”

Said roommate walked on stage and sat down without waving at or playing to the crowd at all, which they did not take kindly to. His inability to play to the crowd earned Cane less applause than some of Vell’s former guests.

“Alright, Cane, thanks for coming down, what’ve you got for us tonight?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Well, yes,” Vell said. “But you usually have like, a thing you want to talk about, or a project you want to show off, or something.”

“Oh. Is that how this works?”

“Yeah. Have you not seen late night TV?”

“I’m from Angola, man, we don’t really get the same networks,” Cane said.

“Huh. Still, you’d think something as basic as two dudes talking to each other would be universal,” Vell said. “Alright, well, uh...anything interesting you’d like to talk about?”

“Honestly not really. Been pretty low-key this year, at least on my end. You’re the guy who gets up to bullshit.”

“True, but I’m the interviewer, not the interviewee.”

“We can swap chairs if you want.”

“I’d love to, but my name is on the sign,” Vell said. They AV department had made him his own Late Night with Vell Harlan sign, just for the occasion. Apparently they had a lot of spare time on their hands. “You really don’t have anything you want to talk about?”

“Not in front of an audience,” Cane said. He glared at the crowd while he spoke. “I mind my own business.”

“Why come out for an interview, then?”

“Hey man, you asked.”

“You could’ve said no. Luke did.”

“Oh. Is it too late to say no?”

“Yes, but whatever,” Vell said. “Thanks for coming out tonight and get the hell off my set.”

The prerecorded musical fanfare played as Cane walked off set awkwardly. He’d killed about two minutes, at least. Vell checked his watch and wondered what the hell was taking Lee so long. Jack the Ripper was still sitting front and center in the audience, entirely un-banished.

“Alright, let me see, what’s next up on the docket, if anything. We-”

A short shriek of fear from the side of the stage interrupted Vell mid-sentence. He didn’t like that. The serial killer was sitting right in front of him, nothing else should be causing screaming. He was barely handling the one problem already. On the other hand, having a new problem to investigate might kill some time and keep Jack occupied.

“Alright, folks, I’m going to look into that and -woah, okay, okay, not a fan.”

Vell was the first to see the problem walking towards the stage, and it was a big problem. Gorilla sized, in fact.

The crowd let out a few short screams and gasps of surprise as the infamous gorilla made its apparently yearly appearance and shambled on to the set to look around. Vell clutched the edges of his desk for dear life and held his ground as the gorilla curiously examined the set. The audience was similarly frozen with fear.

“Uh...okay,” Vell said. “Please welcome our next...guest? An adult female gorilla.”

Nobody applauded, and no intro music played. The gorilla did get up and start poking one of the interview chairs, though.

“So, thanks for coming out today, I appreciate it.”

Improvising was still one of Vell’s weakpoints, but thankfully the talk show format gave him some built in fodder. As he spoke, the gorilla climbed into the chair and took a seat, still curiously examining the cushions.

“So. Last year you gave my friend a handful of sand. Any significance to that?”

The gorilla gave a low, throaty growl, and ripped open the fabric covering the corner of the chair and started picking stuffing out.

“Boy I hope they have a good props budget,” Vell said. “Alright. What brings you back to the Einsteon-Odinson campus? Again?”

“Oog oog oog ooh.”

The gorilla grasped a handful of chair stuffing and chucked it onto the stage.

“Fascinating. And how exactly do you keep sneaking on and off of campus? Is there a secret gorillas only tunnel or something?”

“Oh-wah!”

The gorilla grasped the arm of the chair tightly and shambled out of the seat, back onto the stage. She wandered left for a moment before turning to the side and starting to knuckle her way towards the desk.

“Hoo boy,” Vell said. He started to lean to the far side as the gorilla got closer. “Something I can do for you, miss?”

“Mm.”

The gorilla did not seem hostile, but Vell kept backing away regardless. He glanced away from the approaching ape for a moment to lock eyes with the audience.

“Folks, over the years, I have committed to a lot of bits,” Vell said. “But I do have my limits. If this gorilla gets much closer, I am out.”

The gorilla continued to get closer, and Vell continued to scoot further away. As soon as the gorilla reached out its hand, Vell started to plan his exit strategy. Then the mysterious ape snatched a pen off his desk, examined it closely, and bit the writing utensil twice. Seemingly dissatisfied, the gorilla tossed the pen into the crowd. Vell heard an audience member yelp as it hit them in the head.

“Uh. Sorry about that.”

“Ooh.”

The gorilla turned around and started to walk back the way it had come. As it idly shambled off stage, someone behind the scenes started to play the outro music. Vell stared blankly at the retreating gorilla as the jaunty stock music played.

“Well alright then.”

After a long pause to ensure the gorilla wasn’t coming back, the props department, which apparently did have a very good budget, came on stage to replace the torn up chair and sweep up after the gorilla.

“Alright folks, I think we’re going to take a quick break for some custodial work,” Vell said. “Take a load off and when we come back, our next guest: hopefully not a gorilla!”