The plushie convention was everything I dreaded and more. We arrived at a sprawling convention center near downtown Seattle, and the parking lot alone was a carnival of eccentricity. Grown adults were walking around in plushie costumes, trading plush animals like rare baseball cards, and debating the finer points of stitch quality. It was, as Brenda called it, “a real banger of a plushie paradise.”
Juan was in his element. He strutted into the convention hall with a massive duffel bag filled with his “Plushie Party exclusives,” which included everything from a miniature Frasier Crane plushie to a disturbingly detailed replica of Brenda’s lasagna plushie line.
“This is it,” Juan declared as we navigated through the chaos. “The plushie world will finally recognize me as the visionary I am!”
Brenda, of course, had tagged along with a backpack of her lasagna bites, which she planned to sell under the table despite having no booth or permit. I had no idea why I was even there, other than my inexplicable inability to escape their antics.
The trouble began when Juan set up a makeshift display on an unattended table, pushing aside someone else’s wares with zero regard for convention etiquette. Within minutes, a group of teenagers in hoodies approached, their eyes locked on Juan’s plushie collection. They didn’t look like your average plushie enthusiasts—more like opportunistic troublemakers.
“Hey, man,” one of them said, pointing at a plushie shaped like the Space Needle. “What’s that? Looks dumb.”
Juan puffed up his chest. “This is a Space Needle plushie, handcrafted by yours truly. It’s a symbol of—”
Before he could finish, the teenager snatched the plushie off the table. “Cool. I’ll take it.”
“Excuse me? That’s not how commerce works!” Juan protested, but the kid was already walking away.
Another one grabbed a lasagna plushie. “These are so weird. Who even buys this stuff?”
“Put that down!” Brenda screeched, lunging at the kid. The plushie tug-of-war that followed was almost too ridiculous to watch. Brenda eventually won but stumbled backward into a rack of plushie giraffes, toppling them like dominos.
At that moment, a booming voice echoed through the hall. “Seattle PD! Everybody freeze!”
I turned to see Agent Hargrave strolling in with a group of uniformed police officers. His suit was rumpled, his face slightly red, but his usual smug expression was intact. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite plushie bandits.”
“Agent Hargrave!” Brenda exclaimed, clutching her lasagna plushie like it was a lifeline. “This is harassment!”
Hargrave smirked. “I think you’ll find it’s perfectly legal. You see, I’ve discovered a little-known Seattle ordinance from 1923 that makes it illegal to sell plushies or food at public gatherings without a specific license.”
“1923?” I said, incredulous. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly serious,” Hargrave replied, holding up a yellowed document. “And I’ve got a warrant to search your inventory.”
“Warrant?” Juan sputtered. “You can’t do this! This is a plushie convention! A sacred space!”
Hargrave ignored him and motioned to an officer, who began rifling through Juan’s duffel bag. Brenda tried to intervene, but Hargrave stopped her with a raised hand. “Don’t even think about it, Brenda. Your lasagna empire is already under investigation.”
“This is a setup!” Brenda wailed, clutching her chest dramatically. “A conspiracy against the Plushie Party!”
The teenagers who had been stealing plushies used the commotion as an opportunity to bolt, laughing as they disappeared into the crowd. Meanwhile, Hargrave meticulously cataloged every item in Juan’s bag, occasionally raising an eyebrow at the more bizarre creations.
“What in the world is this?” he asked, holding up a plushie that looked suspiciously like a caricature of Hargrave himself.
Juan turned red. “That’s…uh…limited edition.”
“Uh-huh,” Hargrave said, tossing it back into the bag. “Well, this little operation is shut down. Officers, confiscate the merchandise.”
“Confiscate?” Brenda shrieked. “You can’t take our plushies!”
“Watch me,” Hargrave said with a smirk.
The police packed up the plushies, leaving Brenda and Juan fuming. As the officers walked away with the duffel bag, Brenda muttered under her breath, “This is war.”
Hargrave leaned in, his smirk widening. “Oh, and one more thing. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the IRS investigation. Your tax evasion days are numbered.”
With that, he walked off, leaving the three of us standing in the middle of the convention hall, utterly defeated.
Juan sighed, staring after the confiscated plushies. “This isn’t over. The Plushie Party will rise again.”
Brenda nodded fiercely. “It’s just a setback. A real banger of a setback.”
I buried my face in my hands, wondering how much longer I could survive this madness.
And besides, it was ZVEREV demanding the crowd show respect. 
I actually watched her sign off live last night.
