Gerry snorts. This guy's an asshole. That's respectable. Still, he does not rise from the outdoor table, puffing away.

"Three, two, one..."

Distantly, a low, smooth voice can be heard saying something about the Weather. And then music begins to play, and rain begins to pour. As soon as clouds cover the skies and obscure the aurora, the monsters in the streets begin to fade into glittering dust, collapsing onto the wet cobblestone.

"Ta-daaa," Gerry sings dryly.