In Which I am Still Not a Sci-Fi Writer

"We can't expect the multi-tentacled space goat to save us again," Nagda said, the glowing sword in her hand dripping Lorgor ooze on the chrome walkway as they huddled behind a statue of Sir Hildorf the Great.

"But it might!" Pipin's eyes held the reflection of death's roving flashlight growing closer. 

"No." Nagda struck her sword down. It let out an ear popping clang. "We save ourselves this time."

"With what?" Pipin wailed. 

"Determination." Nagda set her face in what she imagined a statue of herself might look like. She had the face for stoney expressions with her high cheekbones and ice blue eyes. Her blond hair was tightly coiled against her head, splashes of it dyed purple from the ooze.

"We're going to die," Pipin wimpered. With her onyx black hair and sharp features she might have struck as imposing a figure as Nagda, if it wasn't for the wimpering on the floor part.

The rest of their party consisted of a confused warrior hologram waving its sword uselessly in the air, a cleaning robot that may or may not have been simply left in the corner, and a levitating fish.

"We should retreat," the levitating fish said.

"We fight to the death!" the hologram said.

"May I offer you a bev-rage?" the robot said.

Nagda realized in that moment that they were all doomed. The howl of a pack of Lorgor got louder. "Do you think there's any chance," Nagda wondered aloud, "that they might just pass us by?"

The walkway was a fairly wide one bridging the gap between the court house and the old library. A few other statues of legendary librarians were interspersed along its length. It had no rails along the edges that led to an infinite drop into The Chasm, no doubt an oversight of the architects. 

They could hear the snuffling of the approaching Lorgor hunting down their trail now. Nagda raised her sword into a fighting stance. Pipin tried to hide at the base of the statue. The hologram let out a cry of defiance and charged the Lorgor, passing straight through them. The robot busily cleaned the goop off the floor. 

"Bye," the levitated fish said. It drifted out into The Chasm.

"On the count of three," Nagda said, "we Jump."

"But the tech hasn't been proven sound yet." Pipin sniffled. 

"One."

"The last test subject split into four even pieces that gained individual sentience and sang 'Delian Spotted Delian' in four part harmony."

"Three."

When the Lorgor reached the statue they found nothing but a blackened spot on the chrome and a woman's left shoe. For years the fate of their escaped prey was debated along with whether the shoe was technically a tennis shoe or a sandal because it was a sort of slip on that only resembled a tennis shoe in the front. The bunny lords settled the issue when they declared the girls dead, the cleaning robot exploded, and the shoe to be a Tenndal. 

There was much rejoicing, even as a few Lorgor quietly whispered their doubt and passed on legends of the multi-tentacled space goat.

(Brought to you courtesy of the Writing Excuses writing prompt. What's that? I'm still procrastinating? Pfft. This was totally productive. It almost doesn't at all resemble anything I'm supposed to be writing.)