by
Magpie -- Prelude | Act One | Act Two | Act Three | Act Four | Act Five | Act Six
Act Four: Fruit
Cakes... A Publicist's Pipe-Dream, and a Call to Arms
The Cordova Tower. It lurked within the heart
of the city, one of the most infamous structures in the downtown
area. Indeed most everyone in SuperMegatopia had seen it, and could
recognize it. A towering black skyscraper, it ascended into the
clouds, it's every curve, it's every arch designed for some nefarious
purpose. Again, that is to say "some nefarious purpose", because no one was quite sure what the hell the building was for. It was known
to belong to Ratchet Cordova, the infamous Reverse-Psychologist,
but past that... perhaps it was an evil lair in which the most
wanted villains plotted the most insidious of schemes, or a facility
working upon the ultimate doomsday device, or a missile silo packed
to the brim with atomic weaponry.
But no... Cordova Tower served a much more insidious
purpose, one that only the master of Reverse-Psychology could properly
put to use... It did absolutely nothing. The Cordova Tower's only
true purpose was to stand out like a beacon to the superheroes
of the city, it's architecture such that it oozed evil intent.
The Brinkly Brothers Fruit Cake Processing Plant.
It lurked just to the left of the heart of the city, one of the
most ignored structures in the downtown area. Indeed most everyone
in Supermegatopia had seen it. A small white facility, it was quietly
ignored and reviled. None ever entered it's friendly yellow doors,
after all, who the hell ate Fruit Cake? Within the inner sanctum
however... a more sinister purpose was shrouded. (yes, more sinister
then fruit cake production)
An industrial setting, the inner sanctum was a
large room, dominated by an impressive monitor on the eastern wall,
and numerous consoles each, filled with impressive flashing lights
and little beep-beeps. And in the center, was the evil genius who
had designed them, Ratchet Cordova. Dressed in her itchy polyester
uniform, Ratchet looked like nothing so much as a nazi commander,
complete with baggy riding pants stuffed into knee high boots,
and skull insignia cap (Though she had elected for the entire ensemble
to be done in shades of pink). Ratchet clicked her jackboots together,
snapping out a smart salute as the video screen came to life, revealing
the evil, angular foxish face of ... the Stylist.
"Ms. Twobits... The Permanent Solution
is now complete. We've moved "the device" to the top of Cordova Tower, and are awaiting instructions."
"Good... I will go public in ten minutes.
I wa..." The vixen stopped mid-sentence, and looked about the control room, her ears
twitching irritably as she realized she had apparently lost a henchman
somewhere, "Where the hell is Magpie?"
"I sent Hurley Quinn ahead to guard
the device." Ratchet replied, saluting Vixen once again with flare. The well kept fox sighed,
repeating the question, "Magpie. Where the hell is he?"
"I told you, Ms. Twobits. Hurley Quinn
was sent ahead to guard the device."
"I'm talking about Magpie! I want to
know, where the hell is Magpie?"
"Do you really?"
"What?"
"Do you really want to know that? ...
what is it that's really bothering you? It's Hurley Quinn. She's
unstable! A loose cannon! A wild card! I know... I know... you
don't have to walk on eggshells with me, I'm your second in command.
I know she's trouble, and thusly I am keeping an eye on her at
all times."
Vixen nodded in turn to each of the statements.
Hurley Quinn was nothing but trouble. Thankfully Ratchet was keeping
tabs on her. With Ratchet on the job, there really was no need
to worry. So what if Magpie was missing? He'd show up e... It was
at this point that a thought occurred to Vixen, "... are you using your powers on me?"
With a shocked, somewhat hurt look on her face,
the stricken lemur girl replied softly, "Why would I do that?"
"... YOU ARE! You're not answering
any of my questions, Ratchet!"
" What questions?"
"The Magpie questions! Where is he?"
Looking over her shoulder as something began banging
from the inside of her locker, Ratchet turned back, shaking her
head, "Where do you think he is?"
The cool, detached occult mastermind lifted the
camera off of her desk so she could growl directly into it, "If I knew, why would I ask?"
Responding in the same blasé analytical tone,
the lemur asked her commander, "... I don't know, why would you?" The beautiful young occultist dropped back in her chair, giving in finally, "Alright... have your fun. Patch me through to all the stations now. I want to
address my city. Make sure Magpie finds his way back before lunchtime.
The tower is going to be crawling with wannabe heroes..."
With a final salute, followed by a bow, Ratchet
replied with a smile, "Yes, ma'am." Switching off the screen, Ratchet powered up the signal jammer. Across the city
television programs already in progress were interrupted in unison
as Vixen Twobits took control of the airwaves. "People of Supermegatopia... I am Vixen Twobits, the Stylist... I wi *click*" Ratchet switched off her television, not really interested in watching. Her
work done for the next couple of hours, she slinked over to the
lockers, knocking gently on the door, "How are we doing in there?"
Muffled by a hood, the scottish scavenger shout
back out at her, "Let me out, ye daffy stalker fook'! Every time ah deal with frickin' mammals
this happens. Ah can't help it there aren't any real men out there
on fur side, but... let's be frank here, ye trout, this inn't like
marrying out of yer class, there are laws of physics involved here.
Oi! This is frowned upon by most major religions... oi, are ye
going to let me out or wot?"
"I'm changing... just a moment."
"Changing?" Now
that he closed his beak for a moment, he could indeed hear the
rustle of clothing from outside the locker. "Ach... forced to become a breeder. Well, there are worse ways to go ah sposed."
"I'm trying to share something personal
with you here, stop being nasty."
"How would ye be after being locked
in a small cell fer hours on end?"
"You've only been in there fifteen
minutes!"
"Ah'd know that if ah could see mah
watch, but someone tied me up, didn't they?"
"Well... you can tie me up next time." Ratchet
suggested as she fumbled for the key to the locker door, "You know... as a little girl, I always had problems fitting in. Most people are
so prejudiced against us. No one ever tried to get to know the
real me... so one day, I decided I'd just always be someone else.
I'd be contrary to everyone and everything... and that's how I
became a super villain. And also how I became a lemur."
"... bugger." Magpie
muttered as the door was opened, a slim hand removing his hood.
As his eyes adjusted to the light, he almost swallowed his tongue
at the sight that awaited him, "Ach..." Ratchet pouted, her shapely figure clad in only a long t-shirt, that hugged
tightly to her hips, "What's that supposed to mean?" Her tail swished irritably now that it was exposed, bushy and black with a pair
of white stripes down the length of it. Putting two and two together,
Magpie bellowed, "Yer not a lemur! Yer a fookin' skunk!"
"Oh, that..." Ratchet
giggled as she began blushing at the observation, "Well a girl has to have her secrets! Kids can be so mean... no one ever wants
to get to know the skunk girl very well because she might musk
them... it's like being stigmatized, you know?"
"Right... I totally understand and
am a richer bird for it, or some crap like that, what? ...ermmm,
now that we've had this heart to heart, yer going to untie me,
aye?"
"No, I like the ropes." She
insisted, squeezing into the locker herself, and shutting the door
behind them, "ACH! Watch it! Hey! No biting, ye rabid goiter! Oi! No snogging on the first
date, ye... what do ye think yer doing with those? Put down those
knickers, girl! Ah'll *mumph*"
"Shhhh... You know, my parents are
going to love you."
At the Tull residence...
Turning off the television, Barnaby popped another
pain killer into his mouth. An idea was forming, and he was fairly
certain it was a brilliant one. An idea that would make his career
and establish him as one of the greatest publicists in the annuls
of history. Yes, it was one hell of an idea... His fondest wish
was that the fact he was rather over medicated wasn't effecting
his judgment.
But no... this was his destiny. Digging out his
little black book, he took a deep breath before reaching for the
phone. Making a few calls, he made up the details on the fly, painting
a picture for each news anchor in turn.
"I know Buxom Gal is off planet. It
doesn't matter. The city police are bringing in the W.C.S. ...
what do you mean you don't know who they are? They're a secret
organization of undercover superheroes, set aside for catastrophes
of this nature, the Worst Case Scenario. No they aren't affiliated
with Furr Force Five. Yes, there are a few who are single, and
none are currently represented for action figures or any other
endorsements... yet."
Meanwhile at Cheddar's home...
The previous night had been beyond explanation...
a night of unbridled passion, trite though it sounded. It was frightening,
the aphrodisiac quality of a near death experience. Utterly overwhelmed
by the cow girl's frenzied bovine lust, Cheddar wondered if perhaps
this was what it was like to be a rodeo cowboy, as he tried his
damnedest not to be thrown... yes... it was a night to remember.
Unfortunately it ended all too quickly, the coming
dawn inevitable. And with it... Bleu began to regain her composure...
and she also remembered that her parrot paramour lived with his
parents. Thusly, it was eleven o'clock when the cow girl found
herself at the breakfast table, sitting across from a pair of middle
aged parrots, waiting for the coming storm of questions that all
parents had for their children's dates.
Bleu sipped nervously at her coffee, taking a
petite bite of toast as her every move was tracked by Cheddar's
mother. Perhaps it would have been better if they HADN'T gone back
to his place, but she quite simply had forgotten he lived with
his parents. The silence was appalling, and the only one who seemed
oblivious to it was the parrot boy. The sound of his knife as he
spread butter across the surface of a toasted bagel was deafening.
*scrape scrape scrape*
Finally the silence was broken as mother took
a sip from her coffee, and began her interrogation of the suspect, "So... what is it you do, Ms. Belle?"
"Oh, Dr. Belle actually, I'm a dietary
scientist. I try to keep track of..."
Mother interrupted her explanation with an astonished
whistle, "A doctor? How old are you?"
" Uhmmm... 26." Bleu replied, flustered by
the suspicious tone of the mother parrot. Apparently the walls in the house weren't
as sound proofed as Cheddar seemed to think... Looking over to the father for
help, she mooed at the sight of him giving his son a thumbs up.
"26? ..." Cheddar's
mother began to twitch, her head slumping into her arms as she
passed out. Bleu hopped out of her chair, shaking the middle age
parrot, "Is she okay? Cheddar!"
Father and son continued to eat their breakfast
as if nothing had happened, while Bleu tried frantically to revive
the unconscious parrot, "Cheddar!"
"Hrmmm? Oh. Mom's a Norwegian blue.
Don't worry about it."
"... a Norwegian blue?"
"They stun easily... beautiful plumage,
though." Cheddar explained, taking a bite of his bagel.
"STUNNED? I think she might be dead!" Bleu
exclaimed at the exact moment mother chose to wake up, and begin
eating her own breakfast, repeating as if nothing had happened, "26... that's a little old for you, Cheddar."
"I always did like mammals, myself.
I mean, your mother's the only gal for me, of course..." Cheddar's pop was quick to add as his wife began glaring at him, her plumage
standing up in jagged spikes, "But there's a lot to be said for mammary glands..." The father conceded, whistling cheerfully as he slapped his son on the back.
"It's not her mammary glands, dad.
I like her. She's smart, funny..."
"She's four years older then you." His
mother added as if Bleu wasn't there. Which was just fine with
Bleu! The cowgirl was relieved as Cheddar's phone rang, interrupting
the conversation before it could progress any further. Catching
only one part of the conversation, Bleu's ears perked up curiously
as she eavesdropped.
"Filia? Yes, I'm up. The news? No..." Cheddar
got up from his chair suddenly, smiling at something he'd heard, "A super villain? A real super villain? Yes! I'd love to! Okay, I'll meet you
there. Alright... Bye!" With all eyes on him, Goth Cheddar shoved the remains of his breakfast down
his beak, before explaining, "You can stay with Mom and Pop, Bleu. It's big. A super villain is threatening
to use a doomsday device on the entire city, and we're the only
hope!"
"We? You mean Filia?" Bleu
mooed, standing up from the breakfast table herself. The Parents
followed the unfolding drama, watching quietly as she chased after
Cheddar, "This sounds like a suicide mission, Cheddar."
"What? Bleu... they're my team. I know
they seem kind of inexperienced, but..."
"But what? One of them is already dead!
How competent can they be?"
Goth Cheddar tried to think of something to say
in their defense, unfortunately, she was right. They were pretty
damned incompetent... But that's why they needed him! This was
important! The fate of the city rested on the outcome of this battle! "... well. I still have to go, Bleu."
Mooing, Bleu could already see the parrot boy
had made up his mind, and while cows were stubborn creatures by
nature, she knew Cheddar was a remarkably thick headed parrot.
Giving in, she reached for her overnight bag, "Then I'm going too!"
"You're not a superhero!"
"I know! I just... I'm not sitting
around with your mother, wondering if you're alright."
"You're that concerned about my safety?"
"Uhmm yes." Bleu
agreed, sorry to admit to herself that actually she was more concerned
with getting out of the bird house, before Cheddar's mom started
up the interrogation again.
"Alright... let's go then. We could
use the Nutrasweet Ninja on our side!"
"Please don't call me that."
"Bovine Brawler?"
"I'm going to kick you..."
"When ARE you going to get a super
identity?"
"Never! I'm not a superhero, damn it..."
The conversation continued as they left, the door
slamming behind the two, leaving Cheddar's parents alone to discuss
matters, "Well she seemed nice."
"Nice? She's a cow..."
"Honey, Cheddar likes her, and that's
all that's important."
"... what do you think the grandkids
will look like?"
At the Museum...
Waking up in the Titan suit, Victoria had found
that she had the most god awful crick in her spine from the night's
ordeal. But it was a success, the android porcupine still on the
scene, attached rather tenaciously to the Titan's massive forearm.
It had taken almost ten minutes of cajoling the
android to get Cuddles to pry her fingers from the Titan's armor.
Since that time however, all that Cuddles talked about was Tim
Curry. Which was alright with Victoria, who had stopped listening
to what the porcupine was saying a half an hour ago. The lioness
had instead begun admiring her petite athletic build, most especially
noting the contrasts with Mignon's voluptuous bovine frame. "And that's his definitive work as Dr. Frankfurter in Rocky Horror Picture show."
"That's fascinating..." Victoria
agreed enthusiastically, as she began playing with the Titan's
on board visual editing software, trying unsuccessfully to get
the suit's x-ray vision to kick in. "Do you get out much?"
"Not really, I was in prison for most
of my life..."
"Oh my!" Prison...
Mignon had always had her team of lawyers at her beck and call
to keep her out of the slammer. But having seen numerous television
shows and movies on the subject, Victoria had a plethora of romantic
jail house fantasies, "Is it really like they say in prison? You know... were you someone's bitch?"
Tina's eyes opened wide with shock, not really
sure what the question meant. But she knew that was definitely
a "brown word", "Someone's... what?"
"Did the women there... how can I put
it delicately?"
"I don't know. How can you, Ms. Titan?"
"... I believe that I would like to
have dinner with you. Do you have anything nice for evening wear?"
"Evening wear?" There
was an audible sound, similar to an old laserdisc player warming
up as the gears in Tina's head turned, processing... processing...
Finally, her eyes lit up as she smiled broadly, asking, "You mean pajamas? I usually just sleep in my undies, Ms. Titan!"
"How quaintly blue collar, but I meant
do you have a nice dress?"
"Uh huh! I'm wearing it." She
pointed to the tattered remains of her prison uniform, which combined
with the fire damage, the battle last night, and her own quills,
it was a ragged mess.
"... we'll go shopping later. You know,
Tina... I have a feeling that we haven't a thing in common."
"Is that bad?"
A blank slate... a perfect, beautiful, cheerful,
empty-headed pet that Victoria could mold into the toast of high
society, while at the same time taking advantage of her lower class
naivety! Oh it was too good to be true... "I suppose it's not a bad thing at all, if you're a quick study."
Tina giggled, glomping onto the Titan's leg again,
managing to dent the plating with her affectionate embrace, "You talk funny..."
"..." Then again, maybe
this was going to be a harder "fixer-upper" project then the lioness had counted on, "Now, Tina... what did we discuss?"
Tina pouted, remembering the lecture she'd been
given before they'd gotten to talk about Tim Curry again, "... no hugging anyone unless you say so."
"Good girl. I promise, I'll get you
Tim Curry's autograph if you behave."
"Can I hug it?"
"... why can't I date anyone who isn't
in therapy?"
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