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Papa Emeritus III, a striking figure in his tailored black jacket and white vest, pushed open the heavy door to the Ghouls' lounge.
He reached for the switch, and with a decisive click, the room erupted.
A hurricane of confetti—a chaotic, vibrant storm of green, white, and black—rained down, accompanied by a deafening cacophony of party horns.
Terzo let out a sharp, surprised yelp, momentarily jumping back as his dramatic composure shattered.
Before he could demand an explanation, the Ghouls rushed forward in a line.
Each wore a ridiculous party hat, and they collectively held up a single, perfect cake decorated exactly like Meliora's album cover.
"Happy Meliora Day, Papa!" they cheered in unison.
At that exact moment, a small, brown blur erupted from the floor.
It was Weenie, Terzo's beloved Dachshund, wearing a tiny, jaunty party hat.
She popped up with a happy, fluting "woof!", briskly wagging her tail.
Terzo's stunned expression melted into a huge, kind smile.
He hadn't noticed that the room was full of more guests: several other Dachshunds—Weenie's friends—were sitting politely at miniature tables.
The room erupted again, this time with a chorus of celebratory barks. Subtitles materialized below them:
Dachshunds: "Happy Birthday!"
One extremely eager, tail-wagging wiener cocked his head and barked out a very specific, demanding question:
Wire-Haired Dachshund: "Where are the free dog biscuits?"
Terzo was utterly lost in the moment.
From the back of the line, Omega reached behind his large frame, producing a glittering purple party hat with a golden sparkly tuft on top of it.
Gently, he placed it on Terzo's head.
The moment the hat settled, Terzo felt his knees grow weak.
His eyes grew wide and theatrically teary as he looked from the cake to the dogs and back to his Ghouls and Weenie.
He lifted his white-gloved hands slightly, a gesture of awe and surrender.
"My Ghouls, my darling mio piccolo cane... I am truly, exquisitely undone by this surprise. A party for Meliora, on this day of all days? Bellissima! My heart races to see such devotion. Thank you. This is the most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed."
This was more than just a party; it was a profound gesture of love and recognition.
To have his precious Meliora honored with such effort showed Terzo how much his work meant to his Ghouls and to Weenie.
The carefully planned celebration, complete with guests and a cake, wrapped the moment in so much affection that Terzo felt a poetic warmth flood his soul.
He was so moved that he couldn't hold back a soft, dramatic tear.
He pulled a single, crisp tissue from an inner vest pocket and, with the precision of a surgeon, gently dabbed at his eyes.
His makeup remained perfectly intact.
With a dramatic flourish, Terzo tossed the tissue aside, and his usual theatrical demeanor returned as if a switch had been flipped.
"My darlings," he began, his voice taking on a new, commanding tone.
"This party, this beautiful gift... I am more touched than words can express. But this celebration... it is not complete." He paused, a dramatic glint entering his eyes. "I believe we can take it... to the next level."
His Ghouls exchanged confused glances.
In a moment of perfect synchronization, they all uttered a collective, "Huh?"
Above their heads, a flurry of question marks popped into existence.
Weenie and her Dachshund friends tilt their heads in unison.
...
Terzo, now sporting his voluminous black and gold Papal robes and miter, was bouncing wildly in the driver's seat.
He gripped the steering wheel and enthusiastically belted out the lyrics:
"As I'm closing in, imposing on your slumber! You call on me as bells begin to chime!"
In the passenger seat, perfectly secured by a dog-sized seatbelt, Weenie wore a miniature version of his robes.
The brown wiener threw her head back and happily howled along, a high-pitched, enthusiastic sound that was slightly off-key.
In the back, the other Dachshunds joined in, a chorus of howling coming from their securely buckled seats.
The Ghouls, however, were not having a magnificent time.
They sat rigidly, covering their ears and wearing expressions of deep, shared annoyance at the cacophony of pop rock and dog howls.
Terzo turned his head, his face beaming with manic joy.
"Are you on the square?"
A collective groan of profound irritation came from the back of the bus. The Ghouls leaned forward and sang the reply in a flat, grumpy monotone:
"Are you on the level?"
"Good!" Terzo shouted happily, turning back to the windshield. "Are you ready to swear right here, right now, before the devil!"
The Ghost tour bus was wedged awkwardly, nose-first, between two brick walls of a narrow alleyway, its large frame stuck fast.
Terzo, however, was too lost in his joy to notice, singing passionately into the unseen distance.
On the nearby street, a mother and her young daughter were walking hand in hand.
They stopped, seeing the ridiculous sight: the giant, stuck bus blasting loud rock music, the Papal figure inside singing, and the howling dogs. The mother's eyes widened, and she immediately tugged the daughter forward, walking quickly away from the spectacle.