“Alright,” says Doc Robin from upstairs, surrounded, on one of the balconies, by loosely hung, unlit Christmas lights, “that’s all of them. Should be perfect. Avi, plug me in.”
“You just said I had time to go upstairs,” Avi says, from further upstairs.
“Oop, sorry. Anyone downstairs wanna?”
“ONE SECOND! I’M ON IT, I’M ON IT!” a decloaked, dried off Inger Lint says, only to be faced with an absolute mess of cables, wires, and lights. “...SCIENTIST, OUR DEFINITIONS OF PERFECTION ARE STRICTLY CONTRADICTORY.”