Tennis Ball looked at his massive collection of... stuff. Random, assorted, possibly interesting stuff.
He and his *very* close associate had acquired a number of strange and fascinating historical items over the years as part of their *many* endeavors to know more about the world and perhaps nudge it in a better direction. It was one of many, largely-fruitless quests for some sense and order in the world, which have been massively hampered by the whole Battle for Dream Island thing and its massive amount of consequences. Some time in-between challenges, whenever they could finally find a quiet place to breathe and stretch their legs, they'd look around and seek whatever stuck out of the boundless nature like a sore thumb, anything that could be of any interest to anyone with any sort of common sense. They'd then spend a bunch of time (depending on the size, weight, and however many extra hands they could muster) hauling the thing over to GB's Underground Factory, where it'd rot and gather dust in some forgotten corner until they *eventually* got around to investigating it in greater detail. Which they swear they *will* get around to if they finally found the time.
They usually only had enough time to gather one or two tiny trinkets each time, but like laundry piling up in a basket in the home of a shut-in that doesn't bother with taking care of themselves, it eventually added up to a lot, given enough time. When the BFDI suddenly came to a halt, stranding them in this desolate corner of Goiky all on their own once again and now feeling more hostile towards each other, they found themselves now in possession of quite a large mountain of a wide variety of scrap and things.
The process of digging through it all in search of anything that's actually useful was long and exhausting, but Golf Ball very much insisted that it needed to be done; nobody else was gonna be doing it anytime soon, and so *somebody* had to pick up the slack and get them going places. While they'd find some values in some items here and there, ultimately most of the objects they have in store have little to no interesting qualities; a funny-looking rock, or a long-broken piece of equipment of indeterminate purpose, or a scrap of paper containing symbols and words whose meanings were lost to the passage of time, and a bunch of others that they couldn't even begin to process or register, despite their *towering* intellects. When the competition suddenly came knocking yet again, they ultimately decided to just leave it be for the time being; maybe they're missing some crucial piece of the puzzle, something that'll widen the scope of their knowledge and bring about some much-needed enlightenment. Hopefully.
Considering the way the Battle for Battle for Dream Island is going, Tennis Ball wanted it to come soon.
"Hello? Helloooo?"
The sudden noise reverberating throughout the otherwise-desolate halls of the Factory were quick to derail Tennis Ball's train of thought; he'd frantically turn around and start searching for the infiltrator, getting ready to defend himself. "Who's there, huh?" He'd ask in as threatening a tone as that clumsy TB could muster. It was just then that Blocky, who was regrettably their ally in this ongoing battle, would poke their head out of a corner. "Calm down, dude." He'd scoff. "It's just me. Not like you can actually do *anything*, anyway; just do us a favor and scram, or something."
Tennis Ball obviously wasn't all too amused about these shenanigans. "Me? Scram?" He'd approach him. "You're the one that broke into our- er, Golf Ball's factory." "And *you're* the one holed up in it for so long." The cube glared back at him. "Despite you two bozos claiming to manage the team, you guys spend most of your time *here* instead of actually leading us." A thought would then come to mind, and he'd smirk. "Is there something you're not telling us, bud?"
TB groaned. "Well, yes, actually." He'd answer. "But it's only because *you* probably wouldn't get it." Blocky frowned. "You think I'm dumb." He'd state. "That's it, isn't it? You think that just because I do pranks or whatever, I'm automatically lesser because of it. Well, you know what? Planning and pulling these pranks actually takes a *lot* more effort than you give it credit for; you know how hard it is to hold back your laughter *just* before someone falls for one? It's a struggle." He'd fold his arms. "If what you're doing is so, *so* important, then maybe I'll actually get it. Do your worst."
