This was going to be the sweetest party ever. As if it could be anything else, considering who was putting it on.

The Sensoriums were pretty much exactly like that one “bonny lad” –a phrase Dave was seriously thinking about incorporating into his ironic repertoire- had described. A big room that responded to thoughts…it was like he’d been handed a big blank canvas and told to make his life’s masterpiece. Like he was on the mount, about to make his sermon that would bring in his flock and lead them to the path of awesomeness.

Had to do this right.

First, it needed music. The sort that pounded straight into the brain and overrode the senses. This was some zombie shit, a memetic virus that overtook the nervous system and forced the infected into party mode, forced into a perpetual dance party activated by only the sickest beats.

Dave took a moment to wonder if this thing was taking him literally, and then decided that it didn’t really matter.

Now it needed lights, but not just any lights. All the lights. There were going to be strobes and laser light shows, displays and…hell, why not throw in a giant LCD display on one entire wall? Why the hell not?

A giant LCD screen playing Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff-themed stuff. Hell yes.

Again, Dave spared a half-second to think about things. He wondered if this would be the first rave that ever needed seizure paramedics right out of the gate. And then decided in the other half to leave that up to the ship. It probably could summon medics or whatever it did without his help. Really, Dave thought, he ought to just quit worrying about all this stuff. It was like time travel, in that way. Just roll with it.

Still, he might as well make sure that there were provisions. Water and energy drinks, candy and granola bars. Something to keep dancers going until they finally collapsed. Glowsticks for those into that kind of stuff.

All that was left was to change into something more suitable for a rave. The Puppet Tux, he figured, should be a nice ironic counterpart to the causal nature of a rave. Undeniably cool, not too dressy, but just dressy enough to hold a superior air of cool over those who'd come in. This shit was like fine wine, and Dave was the snooty villa owner to guide party-goers through it.

Time to get this party started. Dave snapped his fingers, he music started up. Perfect.