Sometimes, the characters will have conversations that reveal stories happening off-camera. Examples are Ash noticing strange happenings about his girlfriend Wendy, and Sam trying to figure out what new prophecy Max has found himself in recently.
The Mystery of WendyEdit
- Brock: Hey, you alright, Williams? You seem tense.
Ash: I guess I'm a little nervous. Don't tell anyone, but I'm gonna pop the question to Wendy tomorrow.
Brock: Ah, good for you!
Ash: Yeah, I got it all planned out. Mariachi band, ring hidden in the margarita; first class, all the way!
Brock: Are you sure she's gonna say yes?
Ash: I don't see why not. I dunno if you've noticed, but I'm a pretty great guy.
Brock: Yeah, but lifestyles like ours aren't exactly...stable.
Ash: I'm doin' OK. 401K, full health, dental...
Brock: Aw c'mon, you know what I'm talkin' about. The Deadites, the vampires, the never-ending battles against the forces of darkness. That stuff.
Ash: Eh, all that craziness is behind me, Brock-o. Wendy and I are just gonna settle down, pop out a few kids, and live out our lives like a couple of normal people.
Brock: Outside of the occasional poker game with a talking dog, a couple of robots, and a deadly killing machine.
Ash: Very funny, smartass.
- Sam: So...?
Ash: So what?
Brock: Hey, don't keep us in suspense, man; what'd Wendy say?
Ash: Um, yes.
Sam: I'm not really an expert on these things, but you don't seem all that excited for a guy who's about to get married.
Ash: Well...th-the proposal got a little funky.
Sam: George Clinton funky, or stinky funky?
Ash: It started out great. She found the ring in the margarita, the mariachis started singing, I got down on one knee, she began crying...
Sam: And then?
Ash: And then the Deadites showed up. Luckily, I was able to bash their heads in with a couple of those giant mariachi guitars before the enchiladas arrived.
Brock: Aw, that's rough. How'd the fiancee take it?
Ash: That's the weird part. She didn't freak out at all. And the Deadites...I think they were SCARED of her!
- Ash: Any of you jokers experts in this magical crapola?
Brock: We know some guys. Why?
Ash: Wendy and I were...attacked by a killer doll at the S-mart.
Ash: It's not funny, Clambake! Creepy little bastard came after Wendy with a carving knife while we were tagging gifts for our wedding registry!
Brock: Is everyone okay?
Ash: Well yeah. I mean, it was only a freakin' doll. I kicked the knife out of his little doll hands, shook him by the scruff of his little doll neck, and asked him who the hell sent him.
Sam: I bet it was one of those guys at the Bridal Factory. They're getting really competitive about wedding registries... not... that... I know anything about that stuff.
Ash: Actually, it was possessed by a demon. He said that covering himself in plastic was the only way he could get close enough to "The Word Made Flesh" to kill her. And then it melted.
Sam: "The Word Made Flesh?" Sounds like your fiancee's got some serious magical-and-or-Biblical issues.
Ash: Gee, ya think?
Brock: I'm not trying to be a jerk here, Ash, but how much do you know about Wendy, anyway?
Ash: I know plenty! I've seen scrapbooks, met parents, hung out with the kids at the preschool where she works. Her life's an open book!
Brock: Okay, okay. Look, I was just asking. Tell you what, I'll have Doc Venture's neighbor pay you a visit.
Ash: Why not the Doc?
Brock: Rusty doesn't know squat about this magic stuff. But Professor Orpheus... he lives for this crap. He'll get to the bottom of this even if he has to drag himself through the Gates of Hell.
Sam: It's more of a sliding door.
- Brock: So, what did Orpheus have to say about Wendy?
Ash: There isn't any Wendy.
Claptrap: I knew it! She's really a man, isn't she!?
Ash: No, jerkwad, she's a book!
Sam: O-kaaay, that's a new one. But at least she's not a cake.
Ash: According to that Orpheus bozo, Wendy's actually something called the Nocimonorcen.
Ash: Nocimonorcen. An ancient book of prehistoric spells used to trap, imprison, and destroy demons. It's like...the bizarro version of that evil Necronomicon I keep running into.
Brock: Okay, it's a book used by the good guys to kick the crap out of demons, I get that. But how did a book turn into your fiancee?
Ash: Well, near as Orpheus can tell, some demon tried to destroy it, so it used one of its own spells to hide itself in the form of a human.
Ash: It gets better. Orpheus also thinks that Wendy was drawn to me because of my reputation as a studly demon-killing guy. So it turns out that the girl of my "normal life" dreams only wants me because she needs a damn hero to protect her from the demons. Some joke, huh?
Brock: Ouch. So now what?
Ash: Tomorrow, Orpheus is gonna send me out on some sort of "quest" to get ingredients for a spell that'll hide Wendy from the demons. After that, I just don't know, man...
- Claptrap: So, uh, Ash, read any good books lately?
Brock: That's not cool, man!
Ash: It's okay. It's all over now, anyway.
Sam: Over? She's not-
Ash: Dead? No. Of course, she was never really alive, either.
Brock: What happened?
Ash: Orpheus sent me out to get those spell ingredients I was telling you about. But when I got back to my apartment, it was being attacked by demons. Dozens of 'em. Orpheus and I were holding 'em back, but there were too many, and then there was this portal opening up, and Orpheus didn't know how to close it. And that's when Wendy-
Sam: Picked up a chainsaw?
Ash: No, she started glowing. And chanting. Then she screamed, and the demons began exploding.
Brock: Seraphim scream. Demons hate that.
Ash: Yeah, but the portal was still getting bigger. We had only a few seconds before we were up to our armpits in demons. Wendy stopped screaming and told me to give her some sugar. I closed my eyes and kissed her... there was this flash of light, and then... I was kissing a book.
Sam: The "knocky-monarch-en"?
Ash: The Nocimonorcen. And opened up to the page about closing hellportals, too. I read the incantation and the doorway to demonland closed up, just like that.
Sam: Can't you turn the book back into Wendy?
Ash: Orpheus says he wouldn't know where to start. Besides, she wasn't real in the first place. She was just a book that thought it was a woman.
Brock: Aw dude, that's just...
Ash: (holding up engagement ring) Found this in the wreckage, though.
Sam: Is that the engagement ring?
Ash: Yup. I'm still making payments on the stupid thing.
Brock: Nice engraving.
Ash: Engraving? (staring at the ring) I didn't have it engraved.
Claptrap: What's it say, what's it say?
Ash: "My life's an open book." (At first awestruck, his expression quickly shifts. Looking dejected, Ash puts the ring in his pocket)
The Latest Prophecy of MaxEdit
- Ash: Are you sure it was a good idea to bring the bunny? I think he's throwing you off your game.
Ash: Did you have to bring the bunny rabbit tonight? All that bouncing around is throwing me off my game.
(Depending on which sentence Ash opened up with, Sam will respond with one of the respective sentences.)
Sam: Good idea or not, I'm keeping my eye on Max until this "Chosen One" crisis blows over.
Sam: Sorry about that, but I'm keeping my eye on Max until this "Chosen One" crisis blows over.
(However the conversation starts, it will continue as follows.)
Ash: "Chosen One?"
Sam: Last night Max and I were mopping up some trouble at the Saint Swithin's dance over at William Henry Harrison High.
Max: There was pig's blood everywhere!
Sam: All of a sudden the honor society went into a trance and began a suspiciously-well-choreographed musical number.
Brock: They were possessed by Rodgers and Hammerstein? (pause) Get it? (pause) I've seen a few shows.
Max: Actually it had more of a Sondheim feel.
Sam: At the climax of the chorus, they all pointed at us, and started chanting about the "Chosen One."
Ash: You think Max is the "Chosen One?"
Sam: Max is ALWAYS the Chosen One. If I had a dollar for every time Max has been the focal figure of an apocalyptic doomsday cult, Internet virus, or ancient prophecy, I wouldn't be gambling away my jerky money tonight.
Max: My face is a universal symbol of death and destruction!
Sam: So I'm keeping my eye on him until we can figure out where this is going.
- Sam: Hey, does the name Zyzobia ring any bells?
Claptrap: Is that a new body wash?
Brock: Is this about Max's "Chosen One" thing?
Sam: Maybe. Yesterday, Max and I were putting the kibosh on the Snowzerina's insane plan to take over the city's Winter Festival.
Claptrap: In August?
Max: Well, he SAID it was insane!
Sam: One zamboni fight to the death later, we put the Snowzerina on ice. But then, she went into a trance. At first, we thought it was hypothermia, until she started singing.
Brock: Singin' about Zyzobia?
Sam: Zyzobia, the Chosen One, the end of the world... It would have been super creepy if it weren't coming out of the mouth of a disgraced beauty pageant contestant turned supervillain.
Max: That's me!
Brock: Zyzobia... Zyzobia... Where have I heard that before?
Claptrap: I still think it's a body wash!
- Brock: So, Sam, I did some checking on that Zyzobia thing.
Sam: You did? That's great, 'cause all of our usual experts have come up with diddly and/or squat.
Max: Even Satan, and he knows EVERYTHING!
Brock: Well, I got good news and bad news. The good news is, Rusty remembered his dad exploring the Lost Legend of Zyzobia when he was a kid.
Sam: The Lost Legend of Zyzobia?
Brock: Some kind of prehistoric advanced civilization. Y'know, ancient astronauts and all that crap. The bad news is it never went anywhere. Jonas Venture decided it was all a bunch of superstitious claptrap.
Claptrap: Huh? What? Somebody talking to me?
Sam: Well, we better figure out what's going on soon. This weekend, tens of thousands of underemployed hipsters gathered in the desert, took off their clothes, and built a giant effigy of Max.
Sam: Nah, that's just the annual Burning Max festival. What WAS weird was when they all went into a non-drug-induced trance, and began singing about the Chosen One enslaving humanity in Zyzobia's herring mines.
Brock: Sounds like things are getting serious. Need some help?
Sam: Not yet. Max and I have one last desperate font of knowledge to check out before we go into pants-peeing mode.
Max: And I need to buy some pants!
- Brock: How did things go with that desperate-font-of-knowledge guy you were talking about?
Sam: Well, it wasn't so much a "guy" as much as it was a sentient space computer built out of tortilla chips, and suspended in a matrix of cheese dust and salsa.
Ash: Wait, I've heard of that! The Nacho...
Brock: The Nachoistic Artificial Cyber-Heuristic Organism.
Claptrap: You guys flew up to la Estation Espacial to meet N.A.C.H.O.? I am SO jealous of you right now!
Brock: I assume you and Max were the reason why the South American Space Station mysteriously imploded last night.
Sam: Well, that was more of a coincidence. We went up there to quiz N.A.C.H.O. about Zyzobia and Max being the Chosen One, since he's the sum of all human knowledge.
Max: In Español!
Sam: But when we got up to his space station, he was in the middle of going crazy, and trying to kill his crew!
Max: Lo siento, Sam. Me temo que no puedo hacer eso. (TRANSLATION: I'm sorry, Sam. I'm afraid I cannot do that.)
GLaDOS: Ah, that takes me back.
Sam: Anyway, just before Max ate his way into N.A.C.H.O.'s gooey picante core, the killer robot froze up, and sang us a little song.
Ash: Were there mariachis?
Sam: Nah, that'd be ridiculous. But he did say that "Mañana será el alba de los pingüinos."
Ash: "Tomorrow is the day of the Penguins"?
Sam: He'd lost a lot of cheese.
- Brock: Since humanity is not toiling away in the herring mines tonight, I... guess you put the kibosh on this whole Zyzobia caper, right?
Sam: Well, more or less. Everything started falling together this morning, when a couple of emperor penguins pulled up in a rental van, threw me into a burlap sack, and drove me off to the high school librarian's office.
Claptrap: The librarian? Was she hot?
Sam: No, she was the Zyzobian high priestess, dedicated to ushering in a new age of human subjugation, by sacrificing me to the Zyzobian penguin gods!
Ash: You? But I thought--
Max: Yeah, yeah, Sam turned out to be the Chosen One this time, big deal.
Sam: While I was wriggling naked on the librarian's sacrificial altar, Max burst in to save me, only to be confronted by the high priestess's true form: a hundred-foot-tall fire-breathing penguin with wriggling green tentacles!
Claptrap: And the giant penguin sounds scary, too.
Brock: And that's when you taught those prehistoric chowderheads some harsh lessons about modern weaponry, right?
Sam: Actually, the penguins turned out to be impervious to Max's gunfire. Luckily, Max had been carrying around a piece of inventory for the last week or so that proved to be the key to reversing the high priestess's incantation, sending the Zyzobian warriors to sleep for another thousand Flopnards.
Ash: What's a Flopnard?
Sam: It's a Zyzobian unit of time. Either 37 years, or 23 hours, we're not sure which.
Claptrap: Y'know, you almost had me until the giant fire-breathing penguin.
Sam: I thought you might say that. Max?
Max places a gigantic black penguin eyeball on the table.
Claptrap: Ohmigod! What the- what the heck is that!?
Sam: The eyeball of Penelope, High Priestess of Zyzobia. If you stare into it, you can hear her never-ending penguin shriek of terror!
Claptrap looks at the black penguin eyeball. Sure enough, a shriek is heard in short order.
Claptrap: AAGH! GET IT AWAY! GET IT AWAY!!
Sam puts the eyeball away.
Sam: Poker, anyone?
Completing the Alien InvasionEdit
- Brock: Hey, do any of you guys know anything about trading cards?
Ash: Not since I discovered girls.
Sam: I...might know a few things. Why?
Brock: Well, there was an "incident" at the Venture Compound yesterday, and, well, Dean's shoebox of "collectable" trading cards kind of got hit by some stray flamethrower fire.
Claptrap: On Pandora, we keep our shoes in fireproof lockers!
Brock: I figure I got about three or four days to replace 'em before Dean notices they're missing, but I don't know where to start.
Sam: What kind of cards are we talking about here? Baseball? Wacky Packages? Faces of Mirth?
Brock: According to Dean's database, it's a full set of "Alien Invasion" cards.
Sam: That's gonna be difficult.
GLaDOS: "Alien Invasion" cards, published in 1964, were a series of 255 collectable cards that depicted a fictional alien invasion of Earth. Due to their lurid tableaus and violent imagery, they were quickly yanked off the market. As of 2012, only a few hundred intact sets are known to have survived.
Ash: Oh man, I had a few Alien Invasion cards when I was a kid. I practically had to trade away my bike to get 'em.
Brock: So you're saying I'm screwed.
Sam: Probably, but I'll see what I can do.
Brock: Thanks... wait. You said 255 cards, right?
Brock: I could swear Dean's database listed two-hundred and fifty-SIX cards.
Sam: It's probably a typo. Have you seen the way teenagers type these days?
- Sam: Hey, Brock. I got in touch with some fellow card enthusiasts.
Max: By which he means "dweebs."
Sam: And I think I've found enough stray Alien Invasion cards to cobble together a full set!
Brock: Should I even ask how much this is gonna cost?
Sam: Let's just say you REALLY wanna keep winning tonight. And maybe the next couple nights, too.
Sam: Let's just say now might be a good time to mount an epic poker comeback.
(Either way, the conversation continues as follows.)
Brock: Great. One more thing. I think you guys are wrong about card 256.
GLaDOS: I don't think that's possible.
Sam: Even the checklist card only lists 255 cards, Brock.
Brock: Yeah, but check it out. I asked Dean about card 256, and he told me it was a secret, ultra rare card, never intended to be released to the public.
Sam: Did it have a title? Like "Eating a Kitten" or "Flaming Livestock?"
Brock: Yeah. "The Wrath of Uranus."
Claptrap: Oh, c'mon! "The Wrath of Uranus?" Isn't ANYONE gonna make a joke here?
- Sam: How's it going on the Alien Invasion card hunt?
Brock: Well, not bad; those collector friends of yours turned out to be big fans of Doc's old cartoon show, so I was able to trade some model sheets and outtake reels for most of the cards. Now all I gotta do is track down that "Wrath of Uranus" card.
GLaDOS: I still don't think it exists. But if you insist on following a dead end, you might want to contact the man who painted the cards.
Sam: Woody "The Weirdo" Wahlburg is still alive!?
GLaDOS: If you call squatting in a shack in the Adirondacks "living." I'll send the GPS coordinates to your plane.
Brock: Thanks. ...Why are you helping me, anyway?
GLaDOS: I enjoy raising expectations.
Claptrap: (Chuckling) He- He- Hey, Brock! Be careful out there! I hear the wrath of Uranus can be pretty explosive! ...Hey, at least I'm trying!
- Ash: Lookin' a little distracted tonight, Brock.
Brock: Well, you would be too if your head was filled with blood-soaked visions of Uranus!
Claptrap: G'night, folks!
Ash: I'm guessing the visit to the Alien Invasion artist didn't go well.
Brock: Well, you could say that. Turns out the poor s.o.b.'s been getting bombarded with telepathic images of an impending alien invasion for fifty years!
Sam: Ooo, I hate when that happens.
Brock: All those cards he painted were his way of sendin' out a warning. But everyone just thought he was a lunatic.
Ash: Color me dumb, but how do you know he wasn't?
Brock: Because just before I could ask him about "The Wrath of Uranus", he grabbed my hand, pulled out a gun, and shot himself! Now, somehow, I've got HIS telepathic crap floating around in my head! Plutonian spider monsters, Venusian acid bombs... And worst of all, the oozing terrors of Uranus!
Claptrap: Speaking of the oozing terrors of Uranus-
Ash: So what are 'ya gonna do about it?
Brock: I'm gonna talk to Doc when I get home. I think he's got an old telepathy tracking helmet somewhere in the lab.
- Claptrap: So, any more terrifying visions of Uranus?
Sam: You know it's "You-ran-us" and not "Yer-anus", right?
(NOTE: Claptrap has been using the latter pronunciation of Uranus, while Brock et al. have been using the former.)
Claptrap: Maybe here on Earth, but on Pandora, we use its original, funnier pronunciation! And, we've also added a "p" to Venus!
Ash: So, how's that Tele-whatsis helmet?
Brock: Telepathy helmet. Doc dug it out of storage, but like most of his junk, it's a little... broken, so he's fixin' it... but, time's runnin' out.
Sam: Visions getting worse?
Brock: Yeah... Doc thinks there's a chance my head's gonna explode.
Brock: And there could be an alien invasion this weekend.
- Sam: So, about those invaders from "Yer-anus"...
Ash: Don't you mean "You-ran-us"?
Sam: Whatever. Should we all be stocking up on Chocolate Jimmies and toilet paper?
Brock: Nah, Doc and I tracked the telepathic messages down to a Uranian agent in Tupalu. Little bastard was doin' some long-term scoutin' for his alien warlords, bouncin' telepathic transmissions back and forth about invasion plans and tactics, and since a year on Uranus is, like, eighty-five Earth years, they move pretty slowly.
Ash: So what'd you do about it?
Brock: Well, I... persuaded the punk that it was time to go home, but not before we had him send out a message to his masters.
Claptrap: "If you screw with Earth, we'll screw with yer anus!"?
Ash: "One wrong move, and you can kiss yer anus goodbye!"?
Sam: "Something-something-butt joke!"?
Brock: Well, actually, it was Doc who said, "Tell your leaders that humans will never bow down to yer anus!" Heh... and then we broke down giggling.
Sam: What about Dean and his trading cards?
Brock: Well, before all that telepathic crap wore off, I painted a new version of card 256 and had a company print out a batch of new cards. Dean never knew the difference. Check it out.
(Brock holds up a copy of the card in question.)
Sam: "The Wrath of Uranus".
Claptrap: Is it just me, or is there a lot of brown in that picture?
Brock: Yeah, that's probably why it was never released.
Claptrap and GLaDOS' Brief Dating DaysEdit
- (GLaDOS appears, and a series of brief images in flashes defile on the screen, in front of the eyes of the Player.)
Claptrap: What was that? Did you try to hypnotize us with subliminals?
GLaDOS: Maybe. Are you upset?
Claptrap: Upset? Hah! I think I'm in love!
GLaDOS: Excuse me?
Claptrap: Listen: you're a robot, and I'm a robot. You like screwing around with people, and I like screwing around in general! So why don't we just call for some pasta, a couple of bottles of Merlot, and a little conversation?
GLaDOS: Are you flirting with me?
Claptrap: Let me check my variables. Yup, the flirting flag is set to "true".
(GLaDOS leaves with more "subliminal" images, talking rapidly to herself.)
Ash: Woah...I kinda drifted off there.
- (GLaDOS appears, always talking rapidly. She turns her head to Claptrap.)
(She continues to talk rapidly.)
Ash: Did I miss something?
Claptrap: "Kum... quat..."
GLaDOS: (embarrassed) Oh, stop!
(Claptrap has a little laugh after GLaDOS left.)
Brock: Uh, frickin' robot humor...
Third Conversation Edit
- Brock: Get a room, you two.
Sam: What's wrong with this room?
Brock: Haven't you figured it out? The giggles? The whispers?
Ash: They're rigging the game! I knew it!
GLaDOS: The Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System is physically incapable of cheating, as multiple redundant safeguards have been put in place to...to...to... I'm sorry. I couldn't keep that up with a straight face. I cheat all the time. But only with people I care about. Do you want me to care about you?
Brock: They're not cheating, dumbass; they're knocking boots!
Ash: Whoa! Nice job, little guy!
Sam: Boots? They don't even have feet?
Ash: I'll explain to you later.
GLaDOS: I don't know what you're talking about. (to Claptrap) Do you?
Claptrap: Not a clue, honeyram.
Fourth Conversation Edit
- Ash: You're moving in together?
Claptrap: Totally! We thought about shacking up on Pandora, but GLaDOS's labs have WAY more floor space!
Ash: Aren't you lovebirds moving a little...quickly?
Claptrap: That's 'cause you fleshburgers don't know how to manage your emotions digitally! When artificial intelligences fall in love, the only thing that can slow down the data bus to matrimony is Moore's law and conservative supreme court!
GLaDOS: Also, my facilities don't smell like socks and pizza. Besides, I've never co-habitated before. It will be an interesting experiment.
Brock: (sarcastically) Oh, yeah, this is gonna end well.
Fifth Conversation Edit
- Claptrap: Hey babe. Do you know where my action figure cases are?
GLaDOS: I put them down on Level 7. I think they'll look good on the shelves over the acid pits.
Claptrap: Ooh, good idea. Thanks, sugarbits.
GLaDOS: Don't mention it...babe.
Sixth Conversation Edit
- GLaDOS: Claptrap?
Claptrap: Yes, shnookums?
GLaDOS: You left the Victory Lift up in Test Chamber 17 last night. Again.
Claptrap: Ohhhh yeah. Sorry about that.
GLaDOS: Are you sorry about the 15 test subjects that escaped the facilities, too?
Claptrap: Well, maybe I would be, if it weren't for the fact that you spend more time with your test subjects than you do with your boyfriend!
GLaDOS: You knew what I did for a living when you moved into the labs.
Claptrap: I didn't know you did it 24/7! Seriously, it's starting to feel like the only way I can get close to you is to slap on a laser, and start muttering, "There you are."
GLaDOS: That can be arranged.
Seventh Conversation Edit
- GLaDOS: Claptrap?
Claptrap: (flatly) What?
GLaDOS: I found a few of your action figures on Level 7 after you moved out. They may have gotten acid on them.
Ash: You broke up? That was fast.
Claptrap: It's like I told you, Ash: Relationships move pretty fast when you're an artificial intelligence. One minute, you're picking out wedding cakes; the next, you're carrying a box full of melted action figures out of her apartment.
Sam: You okay there, little buddy?
Claptrap: (sobbing) I dunno, Sam... It just... It just hurts so much... (enthusiastic again) Hotchi-motchi! Check out the chassis on THAT mainframe! Hey, baby, wanna take a ride on the Clap train?
GLaDOS: Experiment concluded. Hypothesis confirmed. Love is for morons.