The night air of Stevenson County was crisp, but inside the "Gilded Spoon"—the only restaurant in a fifty-mile radius that required both a tie and a lack of criminal record—the atmosphere was reaching a fever pitch of emerald-tinted insanity.
The Date: Earl and Theo
Earl Hickey sat at a corner booth, feeling like a fish out of water in a rented tuxedo that smelled faintly of mothballs and cedar. Across from him sat Theo Keyoko. She looked devastating. Her dark red hair was swept up, and her dress was a deep, shimmering crimson that seemed to catch every spark of light in the room.
"You're staring again, Earl," Theo whispered, her voice a low, melodic vibration that made Earl forget his own middle name. She reached across the white linen tablecloth, her fingers grazing his hand. "Is it the dress? Or are you just surprised I didn't make you pay for the appetizer with a kiss?"
"I... I'm just trying to be an upholstery... I mean, a gentleman," Earl stammered, his collar feeling three sizes too small. "I promised you a real date. No lists. No brothers. Just us."
"And you're doing wonderfully," Theo purred, her foot sliding up his calf under the table, a huncut glint in her eyes. "But it's hard to focus on 'just us' when your friend is currently attempting to seduce an entire zip code three tables away."
The Triple-Threat Table
Earl sighed and looked to his right. Two tables over, at the third booth in the row, sat the most improbable trio in the history of fine dining.
Mask-Ray was in peak form. His emerald face glowed with a rhythmic, pulsing light that made the wine glasses on the table vibrate. He was wearing a silk shirt unbuttoned halfway to his navel, and he was currently holding a single long strand of spaghetti.
"Open up, my sun-drenched goddess," Mask-Ray cooed to Brenda Meeks, who was looking at him with a mix of hunger and sheer bewilderment. He fed her the pasta with a flourish, then immediately turned to Dwight Hartman.
"And for the man who steers the ship of my heart," Mask-Ray whispered, twirling another forkful. Dwight, his face covered in a light dusting of flour he hadn't quite washed off, looked like he wanted to punch Ray and marry him at the same time.
"I don't eat carbs after eight," Dwight grumbled, but he opened his mouth anyway. "And stop calling my wheelchair a 'ship'. It's a tactical mobility unit."
"It's a chariot of ecstasy, Dwight! Don't deny the chemistry!" Mask-Ray winked, and a literal spark of green electricity jumped from his eye, causing the chandelier above them to flicker and hum.
The Unlucky Couple: Ross and Rachel
Right next to this spectacle sat Ross Geller and Rachel Green. They had planned this date a week ago—a quiet, romantic evening to reconnect. Ross was currently hiding behind his menu, his face a shade of pale that rivaled the napkins.
"We could have gone to the pizza place, Rachel," Ross hissed through gritted teeth. "The one without the glowing man-eater and the angry war veteran. My sister is going to kill me if she finds out I was within ten feet of the Mask without a containment unit."
Rachel took a very long sip of her martini. "Ross, honey, look on the bright side. At least we aren't the ones being fed spaghetti by a guy who looks like a radioactive lime. Just... eat your salad and don't make eye contact. If we don't acknowledge them, maybe they'll disappear."
"I can hear you, Dr. Paleontology!" Mask-Ray shouted over his shoulder, flashing a blindingly white smile. "Your aura is very beige today! You need more emerald in your life! And Rachel, darling, that dress is a crime... because it's so beautiful it should be illegal!"
Rachel turned even redder than Theo's dress. "Thanks, Ray. Please don't blow up the kitchen."
The Parking Lot: The Awakening
Outside, the El Camino sat in the gravel lot, looking like a dusty relic among the fancy sedans. In the back, the "spaceship" had finally landed.
Randy Hickey sat up, blinking rapidly.
He rubbed his eyes and looked at his hands. "Catalina? I think... I think the spirit birds left. My head feels like it's being squeezed by a giant, polite octopus."
Catalina groaned, sitting up beside him. She shook her head, her long hair messy and full of dead leaves from the cemetery. "The moon-cheese is gone, Randy. I feel... normal. Too normal. It's gross."
Randy looked around. "Where are we? This isn't the forest. And why is there a fancy building in front of us?"
He looked toward the "Gilded Spoon." Through the large bay windows, a rhythmic, pulsing green light was flashing, illuminating the bushes in synchronized bursts.
"Randy... look," Catalina whispered, pointing at the window. "The Mask. It's in there. I can see the glow."
"Earl's in there too," Randy realized, his eyes widening. "He's trying to get the Mask back! We gotta help him, Catalina! But first... I think I need to find out if this place has breadsticks. I am so hungry I could eat the seat cushions."
The School: Monica's Dictatorship
Back at Corpse High School, the cleaning war was in full swing. Monica Geller stood in the center of the foyer, a spray bottle in each hand and a headlamp strapped to her forehead. She looked like a commando whose only mission was the total annihilation of germs.
"SCRUB, YOU MAGGOTS! IF I SEE ONE MORE SPEC OF NANO-GLITTER, NOBODY LEAVES UNTIL 2027!" Monica roared.
Chandler, Shorty, and Doofy were on their hands and knees, wearing oversized yellow rubber gloves. They were still about fifty percent high, which made the manual labor feel like an epic quest in a video game.
"Monica, I've been scrubbing this tile for twenty minutes," Chandler moaned, his Ghostface mask pushed up onto his forehead. "I'm pretty sure I've reached the Earth's mantle. Can I please have a break? My knees are making sounds that knees shouldn't make."
"Break time is for people who don't leave streaks, Chandler!" Monica snapped, spraying a mist of lavender-scented bleach over his head.
Shorty was staring at a bucket of soapy water. "Yo, Monica... the bubbles are talking to me. They're saying that the glitter wants to be free. Why are we oppressing the glitter, man? It just wants to shine."
"The glitter is a biohazard, Shorty! Scrub it or I'll use you as a human mop!"
Doofy was trying to use a toothbrush to clean the grout, occasionally stopping to salute Monica. "Reporting for duty, Ma'am! The grout is resisting, but I will not break! I will break it! I am the law of the tiles!"
On a nearby trophy case, Polly the Parrot was flapping her wings in delight. She had taken a strange, twisted liking to Monica's authoritarian style.
"Work, you useless sacks of meat!" Polly squawked, her voice harsh and mocking. "Scrub harder, Doofy! Monica is the Queen! Monica is the Master! You are all dust! You are pipsqueaks! I love this woman! Give 'em the whip, Monica! Curse their lazy feathers!"
Phoebe Buffay and Cindy Campbell were standing near a bucket, trying to help by folding rags. Phoebe leaned over to Cindy, whispering as she watched Polly's fanatical cheering.
"I think Polly found her soulmate," Phoebe said with a nervous smile. "It's a very dark, very clean soulmate, but still... it's nice to see her inspired."
"I'm just glad Monica isn't shouting at us," Cindy whispered back, looking terrified. "Do you think she'll let us go if we finish the windows? I have a feeling something crazy is happening at that restaurant."
Suddenly, the doors swung open. Joey Tribbiani walked in, looking at the scene of absolute domestic carnage. He saw Monica's face—red, sweaty, and twitching with the need for perfection. He could see she was about to have a total meltdown.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Joey shouted, stepping between Monica and the exhausted scrubbers.
"Mone, hey! Look at me. Take a breath. You're doing great. The floor is so shiny I can see my own handsome reflection from the door!"
Monica paused, her chest heaving. She looked at Joey, then at the floor. "It... it is shiny, isn't it?"
"It's beautiful," Joey said, putting a soothing hand on her shoulder. "But you're gonna pop a vein, and then who's gonna make the lasagna? Let the guys take a ten-minute breather. I'll help you with the trophies. We'll do the 'Tribbiani buffing technique'. It's very gentle."
Monica let out a long, shuddering breath. The fire in her eyes dimmed just a fraction. "Okay. Ten minutes. But Chandler, if I see you sitting down, I'm putting your Ghostface mask in the dishwasher on 'Heavy Duty'!"
Back at the Gilded Spoon
The atmosphere in the restaurant was becoming electric—literally. Mask-Ray's laughter was so resonant that the silverware was beginning to crawl across the tables.
"Another bottle of your finest nectar!" Mask-Ray shouted to a terrified waiter. "And bring a bowl of water for my friend Dwight's wheels! They've carried him through the trenches of love tonight!"
"Ray, for the love of god, sit down!" Brenda laughed, though she was clearly enjoying the attention.
Earl looked at Theo, then at the Mask-Ray table. He felt the weight of his list in his pocket. He knew he had to act, but he also knew that if he moved now, his date with Theo would be ruined.
"Theo... I have to do something," Earl whispered.
Theo looked at the green-faced Ray, then back at Earl.
She reached under the table and squeezed his hand, her eyes soft but knowing. "I know, Earl. The hero business never sleeps, does it? But remember... you owe me that date. And I'm going to hold you to it. With interest."
As Earl stood up, the door to the restaurant burst open. Randy and Catalina stumbled in, looking disheveled and smelling like the Stevenson County woods.
"EARL!" Randy yelled, pointing at the third table. "The spirit birds! They're in the green guy's eyes! We gotta get the breadsticks—I mean, the Mask!"
The entire restaurant went silent. Ross put his head on the table. Rachel covered her face with her hands.
And Mask-Ray stood up, his green skin glowing with a blinding intensity as he prepared to turn the "Gilded Spoon" into the world's most fabulous dance floor.