Tales of the Parodyverse

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killer shrike
Sun Dec 12, 2004 at 10:35:18 pm EST
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Hatman/Alcheman Team Up # 2
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Hatman/Alcheman #2


A Not So Simple Life


As they had always done since infancy, when not otherwise engaged, Jenni and Trudi Wooster had shared the same bed. It was a double king sized model, with satin sheets, a gauzy canopy, and a regiment of plush animals.

It had been a late night for the pair, and they still slept, curled up on their respective sides, beauty masks affixed, dead to the world. It was a surprisingly tender tableau.

Agnes Wooster cared little for such esthetics. She burst in and drew back the canopy.

“Wake up, you layabouts! It’s nearly noon!” she hollered.

Jenni made a mewl of protest and turned over. Her mother reached down and shook her violently.

“I said wake up! This is not some hotel you’re staying at. You don’t get to keep your own hours.”

“What do you want, mother?” Trudi asked. She hadn’t moved a muscle since Agnes had entered.

“I want you to get up and get to work!” she screeched.

The pair slowly raised their heads and removed their sleeping masks in unison.

“Oh, dear,” Jenni fretted, “It’s finally happened. Mother has lost her mind.”

“I hope it’s not too late to change the will,” Trudi had Mr. Wellfudge on speed dial.

Agnes huffed and slapped the mattress with her trowel, “I mean it, you two. You are not going to sleep in all day doing Heavens knows what. Not when you owe me.”

“Really, mother you make our arrangement sound so sordid,” Trudi protested, “You know Jenni has Somni-Monophobia.”

“What?”

“The fear of sleeping alone,” Trudi explained.

That would explain so much, Agnes thought to herself, “I thought she was afraid of the dark.”

“I am not!” Jenni squinted in protest.

“True,” her sister smirked, “She’s afraid of the clowns that come and get you when it’s dark.”

Jenni rounded on her with pillow in hand, “You’re not supposed to talk about what’s discussed in twins therapy!” clobbering her with the feather-filled bludgeon.

“Enough!” Agnes bellowed, “I blame all of this on your father for humoring your eccentricities! The only thing you two are afraid of is an honest day’s work. Now, get up, get dressed, and get ready to join me in the greenhouse. The orchids need pruning!” and she turned on her heel and left.

The young ladies stared after her, then at each other. Jenni sniffled and adjusted her chemise.

“Do you still think we can get her committed?” she asked hopefully.

*****


After showering (separately), the two young women set about procrastinating. Trudi was online while Jenni was touching up roots that had nothing to do with gardening.

“Sister, come look at this,” Trudi said from her vanity. She was peering at her laptop.

“What? Oooh, Hatman!”

“Yes. My SuperBachelors newsgroup is reporting that he is giving a lecture at Paradopolis University this afternoon.”

Jenni continued painting her scalp, “He’s very pretty. Don’t you think he looks like Michael, when he was younger?”

“Certainly not,” Trudi glanced back at her sister with smarmy concern, “Is this something we need to discuss with Dr. Maulomali at our next session?”

In retaliation Jenni began to sing the Charles in Charge theme song, which quieted her formerly Baio-obsessed sibling.

“So you think we should attend?” Jenni asked.

“It’s an opportunity to make introductions with one of the most eligible superheroes of the Parodyverse, and to get out of working with Agnes,” Trudi stood, “She’ll be happy we’re showing an interest in furthering our education. Now, where’s my water bra?”

*****


The Wooster Twins had a simple plan: “run into” Hatman before he gave his presentation, make an impression, and then ask him an especially insightful question after his lecture, astonishing the hero with their acumen. The hardest part of the operation, up until they got to the auditorium, had been deciding on the question.

Once the pair had managed to flirt there way backstage, they encountered a different problem. There were two ways Hatman could take the stage.

“We could ask which route he takes?” Jenni whispered to her sister.

Trudi eyed those who promoted the event bustle by, “No, we don’t want to attract too much attention to ourselves,” she yanked down her halter top and hitched up her hiphuggers, “You wait by the right alcove, and I’ll take the left.”

“Which one is the right?”

The dark one with all the chairs stacked in it,” Trudi pointed.

“OK.”

Trudi Wooster watched her oblivious sister head off on her fool’s errand. She almost hated to deceive her, but the pair was hunting big game, and with such stakes in play it was every girl for herself.

Maybe she’d introduce Jenni to CrazySugarFreakBoy!, if things worked out.

*****


Jay Boaz made a last minute check of his notes before heading out of the closet that had doubled for his “dressing room.” It would be the fourth time he would be making this particular presentation, but was always concerned he came across as too preachy, or too breezy, or some other derogatory adjective.

All things considered, he’d rather be fighting the Yurt.

One of the organizers knocked on the door, letting Jay know it was time. He headed out, unconsciously tugging on the brim of his cap.

A woman stopped him on the way.

She was small, with a cherubic face and expressive blue eyes, though she was hiding them under a bit too much eye shadow.

“Hi!” she enthused, “Thanks for saving us in the TransWorld Challenge.”

“Well, you’re welcome, but I didn’t exactly-“

“I’m Trudi,” she offered her hand, “Trudi Wooster.”

“Nice to meet you, Trudi. I hope you enjoy the presentation.”

“Oh,” she vamped, “I already am.”

*****


In the darkened alcove Jenni had found a place to sit and sulk. She had no interest in attending the lecture now that Trudi had made her introductions with Hatman. And the young woman wasn’t keen on the idea of going back out where the brainy coeds were, with their smart little sweater ensembles and their clunky, but intelligent eyewear, which they would look over dismissively when they spied Jenni in her pleather mini dress with matching mesh and fur robe. She set the volume on her iPod to eleven and let Lenny Kravitz sing her blues away.

Normally Jenni didn’t mind it when people considered her dumb: it lowered expectations and served as a blanket alibi. But now that she was considering a new social circle, one that included mad scientists and vigilante detectives, and for that being double jointed might not be enough to grant her entrée.

A knock on her shoulder shook Jenni from her reverie. She turned and stared down the barrels of an especially large gun.

*****


Michael Wooster winced uncomfortably, partially from the length and volume of Lactose Intolerant’s screed against dairy products, and partially because he had a plasma rifle jammed to the side of Michael’s head.

His mind raced in search of ways to escape. Most hinged on the ability to reach his tattoos, which upon touch would transform him into a number of gasses or ores that could protect him from gunfire. The problem was the symbols were concealed under an Oxford shirt and a corduroy sports jacket.

The novice hero looked up onto the stage where a more experienced crime fighter also waited through the villain’s monologue. He hoped Hatman had a way to get them out of this stand-off, because Michael had none.

His eyes wandered across the auditorium, stopping in horror at the sight of his sister Trudi, two sections to the right, five rows back, and eight chairs over. She noticed her brother and gave him an encouraging gesture by putting up her dukes. Michael smiled weakly.

He really hoped Hatman had a plan.

*****


“So, yeah, this Lactose Intolerant thing is just a temporary gig, to give me some street cred,” Carl told the lithe blonde in the leather skirt, “I’m not going to settle for this anti-dairy terrorism niche.”

“So you have plans?” Jenni asked.

“Oh, yeah. Big ones. I really want to hench for some of the major players: Fokker or B.A.L.D. or maybe even Masamune, though she normally only hires Oriental types.”

“Oh, I hate it when people discriminate,” she pouted.

“The villain game is so insular. It doesn’t matter how good you are, it’s who you know,” Carl smiled, “You know, you’re real easy to talk to. You go to school here?”

“No, I just like to be where the action is,” Jenni ran her long nails across Carl’s tri-barrel phaser cannon, while she surreptitiously eyed the nearby fuse box, “Say, do you think I could hold this?”

*****


It was time to make a decision, Jay realized.

Lactose Intolerant’s rant was reaching a fever pitch. He was sweating heavily, and the heavy weapon he was carrying was starting to droop in his hands. The man’s hostage was holding up remarkably well, but the Legionnaire couldn’t count on the civilian to maintain his composure for much longer. The two dozen other agents of the anti-milk militia were getting antsy as well. Somebody, soon, was bound to slip up, and lives would be lost. The Capped Crusader went through his arsenal of hats again, trying desperately to formulate a strategy that would defeat the assembled criminals without leading to civilian casualties. He slowly began to reach for his Super Sonics Cap…

And then there was an explosion backstage.

And then the wall blew outward.

And then the lights went out.

To be continued





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