[hider=Just Hit Play]
Seriously, start almost anywhere in the two or so hours and let it fly. 
[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iGMiwYZu0mA[/youtube]
Rick Ashley's around the 2:15:00 mark, btw. :P
[/hider]

Indecision played on the features of the masked Luchador. Not that anyone would know, the hairy youth wore that mask every moment of his life. They were all told very directly to stay put, but that was before the situation changed. 

Massively. 

Their elder trainer, while possibly still able to mop the floor with his team, was caught out there underneath a sky blotted dark by Owlbeasts. Not just the owl creatures, but their former teammate. This could spell trouble unless the cavalry arrived, and quickly. 

Hastily, El Sasquatcho hit his last train of thought with a mental eraser, and tried repeatedly to overwrite his unspoken misstep about Ves. She wasn't a "former" anything. She was still their friend and colleague. The great Argonaut just had her head hijacked by some people, is all. Some people that, if met under the right circumstances, El Sasquatcho would be using the back of their skulls in which to serve menudo. After being properly challenged and summarily splatted, softball bat style, on the nearest hard surface. 

He straightened, and solemnly moved to recover his armor. As he donned his protective gear, he spoke aloud, so that all those crowded in the main room could hear his voice as they gazed at the television or looked out and to the skies, "Our friends are out there. Both of them. If Señor Wildcat is correct, and [i]we[/i] are the next targets, they'll be coming here anyway. Let's suit up." 

El Sasquatcho traded out his mask last, adjusting the vocal augmenter. [b]"If they come in here, or we can lure them indoors elsewhere, they lose their advantage of flight. The cavalry will know exactly where to find us. Let's give our friend a warm welcome.[/b]

The hairy luchador jogged into his quarters and sat in front of his laptop for a scant minute, just enough time to punch in a YooTube search and bluetouth it to the PA and his personal electronics. Something Vesta would like. Something El Sasquatcho could move to. Something that may remind the wayward Amazon of the last time they had fun together, and crammed many spicy wings back. 

Activating his earbud communicator, he attempted to contact Wildcat, unsure as to whether he even had his with him at the time. It seemed of little matter. The convenient timing in which the attack started seemed to point toward a coordinated effort to single the team out, if they were indeed the next targets of this mysterious group of villainy. 

El Sasquatcho shook his head and pressed the PLAY icon on his machine, routing the link and blasting the remixed sounds of the 1980's to the various devices and speakers at their disposal. Whether they stayed to defend or took the fight outside, some of her favorite music would follow, an unorthodox but touching background to their work which must be done; the fighting theme of the reluctant but determined combatant, the cheerful juxtaposition of electronic melody over the sounds of heartbreak and battle. 

With tears welling in his chocolate brown eyes, he whispered in a hoarse, augmented voice, [b]"Revolución, mi amiga. Let us dance."[/b]