Rock on,Floyd

King Thrash's Greatest Fear

Floyd and Barb lounged in the living room, engrossed in playing with a small, black, fuzzy bat, a pet-sitting favor for one of Riff's friends, Sid Frett. Barb, in particular, was thrilled with the task, her desire for a bat of her own making her especially eager.

"Come on, Roxanne, you can do it! Catch the string!" Barb encouraged, animatedly wiggling a stick adorned with a string and ball in front of the bat. Roxanne, the bat in question, though advanced in years, made a valiant effort to engage with the toy, her movements slow but determined.

Floyd, too, lent his voice to the chorus of encouragement and buoyed by the support of both, Roxanne managed to latch onto the ball at the end of the stick. At this small victory, Barb let out a delighted squeal.

"You did it, Roxanne! Oh, who's the best little bat? You are!" Barb crooned affectionately to the furry creature, gently petting her as she basked in the attention. Floyd, mindful of the bat's sensitive hearing, offered his applause in the form of soft, fingertip claps. Amidst this tender scene, the front door swung open to reveal the bat enthusiast's father, KING THRASH, stepping in.

"Greetings, kids, how have you been—AAAAH!" His words cut short at the sight of Roxanne, the king let out a scream, promptly turning on his heel to race upstairs, where he secured himself in his room. This left Floyd, Barb, and even Roxanne, bewildered by the sudden exit.

"Sooo, your dad just... screamed and bolted like my little brother does when he sees a tarantapuff plushie," Floyd remarked, an eyebrow arched in amusement. Barb simply blinked in response, a bit puzzled herself, and shrugged. "I've never seen my old man freak out like that. Makes you wonder... what spooked him?" she mused.

"Well, let's piece this together; it must be something he saw that sent him sprinting. So, perhaps there's something unusual in the living room that scared him?" Floyd posited, touching a finger to his chin, lost in thought.

"Alright, detective mode on! I definitely don't want an encore of Dad hitting those high notes like a classical troll with a fractured wing," Barb declared.

As Floyd and Barb embarked on their quest to uncover the source of King Thrash's terror, they approached their investigation with the kind of seriousness usually reserved for finding lost remote controls.

Starting in the corners, Floyd peered behind curtains with the intensity of a cat stalking a laser pointer. "Maybe he saw his own reflection and got scared?" Floyd suggested, only half-joking, as he checked behind a particularly shiny vase.

Barb, meanwhile, dived into the piles of old records like a rock troll in a mosh pit, sending albums sliding across the floor. "Found anything?" Floyd called out. "Just Dad's old 'Hair Bands of the 80s' collection. Oh, the horror," she replied, holding up a particularly vibrant album cover featuring an excess of hairspray and leather.

Moving to the houseplants, they half-expected to find a creature from the depths of Troll Forest. Barb lifted a pot, only to find... "Aha! The lost city of...dust bunnies," she declared, uncovering a thriving civilization of lint and fluff. Floyd shone the flashlight like he was about to tell a ghost story, only to illuminate a very confused spider contemplating its life choices.

Inspecting the shelves, they handled each trinket as if it might explode. "This one looks suspicious," Floyd said, examining a snow globe. "Because it's from the 'world's most boring landmarks' series?" Barb asked, peering over his shoulder at a globe filled with the thrilling scene of a very flat and uneventful field.

As they checked the ceiling for airborne intruders, Floyd mused, "Maybe he saw a ghost? Or worse, realized he's been wearing his shirt inside out all day." Barb, wielding the broom like a sword, cleared away cobwebs, only to disturb a congregation of dust particles that glittered in the light like a disco ball gone wrong.