Tales of the Parodyverse

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Visionary
Tue May 31, 2005 at 11:37:07 pm EDT
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BTW: Tuesday.
Originally
Yes, I quite like the dynamic of this scene too. Excellent stuff.
In Reply To

Visionary
Tue May 31, 2005 at 09:49:10 pm EDT
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"I'll do it man!!! Don't think I won't!!!" the extremely agitated psycho was screaming once more. He stood in the middle of Lair Island's reception hall with what appeared to be a very large uzi pressed against the temple of the newly elected Mayor of Parodiopolis. The fact that he was totally surrounded by some of the most powerful beings in the Parodiverse might have added to his level of nervousness, had they not been mostly ignoring him in favor of the buffet table. As it was, he was sweating heavily--and not just from fear. Movies never really pointed out how hot you could get by wearing a ski mask indoors. He meant to sound ominous, although when he spoke again, it came out more like a whine. "I'm serious! If I don't see your leader Jarvis here in five minutes, the mayor's gonna get his!!!"

"How many mayors will that make this year?" Banjooo asked curiously, shifting his sea-monkey bulk over to the chow line to join his former detective partner.

"I kinda lost count while I was dead" spiffy answered with a bored shrug, piling some freshly carved roast beef on his plate. These Lair functions were now much swankier than when he was a member. "I wouldn't worry too much though… you can never really run out of politicians. They're a renewable resource." When he got to the dessert table, he decided to take a few extra puddings. His fern liked puddings. "You can always recycle a few old lawyers… Isn't that right Leese?"

The lawyer-Legionnaire was absently twirling Mjalcom as she watched the lone gunman back himself literally into a corner and use the Mayor to shield himself from the seemingly uninterested crowd. "What? Oh… yeah, sure" she answered the Ferned-Wonder vaguely. "Don't you think that he maybe should have been bigger?" she asked, nodding towards the terrorist. "Maybe armored or something? As it is, it's kind of insulting to the rest of us, don't you think?"

"You know what I'm afraid of?" Space Ghost asked, coming to stand next to her while attempting to open a bottle of 12 year old scotch. Lisa noted he didn't bring a glass.

"The Oompa-Loompas from that Willy Wonka movie?"

"Exactly" he answered triumphantly. (Living with Space Ghost, one quickly realizes that nothing is off topic for him.) "They're like little orange and green 'Websters'. That isn't right." He looked around the reception hall at the mingling guests giving the terrorist a wide birth. "Hey, how come that guy gets to wear a ski-mask?! I bet Cheryl wouldn't let me wear a ski-mask!"

"I think he pretty much set his own dress code" Banjooo explained.

"That lucky bastard!" he answered, momentarily stopping his struggles with the liquor to scratch at his ass. "Pants really chafe me… I have very sensitive lower bits, dammit."

"Do you mind?" spiffy scowled. "Some of us are trying to eat."

The crowd consisting of Parodiopolis's A-list, 'Fortune 500' types scrambled to make way for a very rumpled, disheveled and thoroughly grumpy looking Ausgardian who plodded through them, heedless of which multi-millionaire and celebrity he happened to trample. He was about to pass his teammates by when he turned his squinty eyes on Space Ghost. With a grunt he snatched the bottle out of the talk-show host's (and sometimes-superhero) hands, raised the label to his face, and nodded. Then he turned to plod back upstairs.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay for the party?" Lisa called out to his back as he trod down a group of bankers. "Tina says that there's plenty of Hagen Daas to go with the cake!"

The thunder-god froze, then shifted directions off towards the kitchen. After a few minutes, and the sounds of the blender, he emerged again with a large glass filled with a thick, frosty, caramel colored beverage and a milkshake mustache. With a grunt he handed the empty scotch bottle back to Space Ghost and trudged back upstairs.

"We'll be sure to tell Jarvis you said Hi!!!" Lisa called out cheerfully.

Space Ghost sadly shook the empty bottle upside-down. "Why didn't I think of that?" he sighed. "I bet I could put Dairy Queen out of business within a month…"

Suddenly, the door to the Hall burst open to reveal a very perturbed looking Butler. "JUST WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!!"

Cheryl detached herself from the various members of the press to approach the enraged leader of the Lair Legion. "Well, it *was* a gala commemorating the founding of the new civic center… I thought by offering to host it we could stress our newfound commitment to becoming a respectable, civic-minded organization. Then the caterer short-changed us on cocktail-weenies, two cases of champagne were dropped by the kitchen staff, and one thing lead to another… Of course, once the hostages were taken, the whole event really started to go downhill, I'm afraid."

Jarvis gave her a steady glare tinged with red. "*Who* took hostages?"

"The man in the corner, dear. See? The one with the gun?" she answered warily. She looked into his oddly colored eyes. "Have you been getting enough sleep, Jarvis?" she asked, concerned. "Would you like some Visine or something?"

The butler ignored her and instead marched to the center of the hall to turn his crimson eyes on the man cowering behind the Mayor. "Well?" he asked in a quiet, dangerous voice.

The terrorist slunk even farther back into his corner, until only his gun and one eye peeked around his hostage. "Umm…. It-t-t's… uh… It's about t-t-t-time y-y-you got h-h-here" he said confidently. Well, at least he didn't wet himself. "N-n-now…. H-here's m-my demands…"

Jarvis grinned. It was a wicked, evil, oily grin… the kind usually reserved for the exclusive use of used-car salesmen. "Whatever you want…" he said evilly. "…Get it yourself." He stepped closer to the gunman and the now sweating mayor. With each step he hissed out another word: "I… don't… negotiate."

"Um… well… wait…" the ski-masked man commanded (or pleaded… take your pick.) in a tiny voice. "That's not what you're supposed to say… Uh… that is… You have 5 seconds to stop where you are!!!"

Jarvis kept walking.

"Uh… F-five… f-f-f-four… er…." He swallowed hard. "Um…. F-f-f-four…"

"You already said four!" Space Ghost called out helpfully.

"Shut up and get ready" Lisa whispered.

Jarvis was now about ten paces from the mayor, who really looked to be reconsidering his decision to take public office.

"Three!!!" the terrorist yelled. "I said three and I meant it! How about two?"

Jarvis didn't stop. The whole room took a deep breath…

"One……..?"






"SURPRISE!!!!!!!!! the crowd yelled. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JARVIS!!!!!!"

Or at least they would have, had Jarvis not gestured and caused the corner of the hall to disintegrate into a burst of light. As it was, they all merely yelled "SURP…!" and then had to dive for cover. While the tiny particles of light that drifted through the room following the blast were rather pretty and festive in their own way, Cheryl desperately hoped that none of them were bits of the mayor or the actor she had hired from "Dubchek's Party Suppliers" to play the gunman. If so, she doubted she could get the deposit back on his costume.

"Um… surprise, Honey" Melissa finally said from under the dessert table. "Happy Birthday."

Jarvis blinked and looked around the decorated hall at all the people cowering on the floor. "Really?" he asked in his normal, if stunned, voice. "All this? For me?" He sniffed and wiped a tear from his eye. "You really shouldn't have!"

"You can say that again" Cheryl muttered under her breath as she and Lisa got off the floor to make their way over to the bar. "I knew this was a bad idea" she sighed. "Ah well… Should we do the paperwork in your office or in mine?"

"My secretary gives great backrubs" Lisa answered, straightening out her dress.

"Yours it is."

Lisa grinned and pointed to the shelf behind the bar. "That bottle of brandy there should take care of the District Attorney… he's pretty much a light-weight." she said, tapping her finger on her chin. "How much will you need for the press corps?

Cheryl snorted. "All the tequila, the two cases of vodka, whatever scotch is left, and the sherry for Dan Rather."

"You know…" Lisa said, helping to load Cheryl's arms up with booze. "They really don't pay us nearly enough."







Footnotes:

Okay, this is obviously pretty old, as the cast shows. At the time it was written, Jarvis was going through mood swings that brought out a serious dark side, spiffy had never even considered being mayor (which makes his comments here all the more amusing to me), Donar was… well, I don’t really remember what Donar was so grumpy about, and Visionary was lost in the corn with Fleabot.

There’ll be some new stuff up eventually this week. Honest.



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