Tarvek, Gil and Klaus with accompanying entourage, crashing mid-90’s rave parties aka Night At The Roxbury style.
[AN: I have no idea what Night At The Roxbury is, so I’m going to keep it down to three geniuses in search of an exit]
They knew things had changed. It was hard to miss. For starters, there was an unending klaxon. The space, what looked to be the shell of a gigantic clank maintenance shed, was filled, wall to wall, with gyrating bodies twitching rhythmically to the siren. There was a jungle beat in the air.
Many of the nearly-naked people in the teeming throng wore glowing jewellery. It was difficult to figure them out. There was no uniformity to their manner of dress, though garish and impossible colours seemed to be the one commonality between them.
All this, Klaus Wulfenbach saw in an instant.
His son and that Sturmvarous boy, however, had fallen to bickering.
"This is your nefarious plot!"
"This is your nefarious plot!”
"NEITHER!" Klaus roared above the ear-splitting din. "You recall that green creature we all encountered? She must have infected us with something. Now we have the ability to slide between realities as she does."
"She claimed she had to be touching everything she was touching when she slid in," said Gil.
"No doubt there’s a further trick to it," said Tarvek. "People aren’t that honest.”
"Then, logic dictates that we resume what we were doing before the slide."
Which was fighting.
Which was how they got tossed out of the rave.
It was a dark and stormy night.