“Let’s see…” I massaged my trademark beard. “Who to yield? Can’t be Bennet…”
“That’s so last week,” Puck agreed.
“Can’t yield Henchman, it would make raptor Jesus night awkward. And Koma’s already got enough problems with time zones, being trapped in the bowels of the Earth—”
“You’re confusing direction with depth.”
“Bowels are below the equator. If they don’t like it, they can reverse the Earth’s magnetic poles.”
“We could yield Petrelli—”
“Nay! Congress must be at its most alertness in this time of economic turmoil.”
“Loves pancakes too much. Plus, Magneto plays the banjo. Hey, what was the first name?”
“Yes! No. Koma. Jan. Edwin. Colonel Chickenpox!”
Puck slapped me. “W00t!”
“Okay,” I rubbed my agitated temple. “Let’s yield… Bennet. Because he’s used to it. And for not offering to teriyaki our feet. Also, it’ll prompt him to persevere and audiences love someone who overcomes the odds.”
Sorry, man. Reach for the goal, reach for the gold!