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Worst Case Scenario: "The Permanent Solution"
by Magpie -- Prelude | Act One | Act Two | Act Three | Act Four | Act Five | Act Six Act Two: What's Gothic about Cheese? And Be Sure to Tip Your Cultist... It had been almost an hour since Cheddar had begun his search. He'd tried both bathrooms, the dance floor, the private karaoke rooms, the secluded booths, the back alley, the coffee shop, but Filia and Patrick seemed to have vanished completely. Were they called off to duty? And he missed it? Or worse, did some evil doer lure them into a trap, and they were waiting for him to swoop in a rescue them? Finally taking a seat at the bar, he was somewhat sheepish as he waved down the bartender again, "Uhmmm... have you seen my team?" The cat behind the bar smiled an enigmatic little smile at him. It was the kind of smile that cat's had when they'd cornered a defenseless and naive parrot, "They were thrown out for public indecency... again. It happens. They'll be back in a day or two I'm sure. Besides, it's a school night, they always pack up early." "Public indecency?" "Well they are rabbits." "... but he's dead!" "Did you think that Necro-Filia was just a cute nick name?" Cheddar pondered the question for a moment, his imagination crafting a number of mental pictures before his subconscious kicked in it's fail-safe mechanism, "I'd like another shot, please... Ms..." "Muggs. Cheshire Muggs. I told you already." "Sorry... I still very much need another shot, Ms. Cheshire." "Me too! I'm drinking!" A young girl on Cheddar's left interrupted. A hyena, she wielded the high pitched, grating accent that was made infamous by Fran Drescher. Wearing a black and red striped long coat, what was most notable about the athletic young woman was her hair, which was a wild multi-colored tangle of spikes. Cheddar didn't recognize her, but with an outfit like that, she was obviously a superhero. With a cheerful whistle, he leaned over to examine the flower pinned to her lapel, "Is that a carnation?" The hyena blinked, looking from the parrot to her drink as if debating which was more important. A towering mug of lager, it was an impressive beverage for anyone, let alone a small hyena. But then, the parrot might very well be her contact... Finally she seemed to decide to humor the parrot first, "Yeah... it's a carnation... wanna smell?" Leaning forward further to sniff at the flower with a curious whistle, Cheddar happened to glance up at the time from the bar's neon clock. Bleu should be here by now, and he wasn't sure he wanted her to find him at the bar sniffing another woman. Most certainly at least not on their first date. "That's okay... thanks." Cheddar replied, hunching down over his own drink. A stream of green liquid shot from the carnation, whizzing past his head, and sizzling as it hit the countertop. Cheddar looked from the pitted surface of the bar to the hyena girl with the acid squirting flower. Cackling sheepishly, the hyena smiled playfully, "Force habit, sorry... Hurley Quinn. Nice ta meetcha!" "... Cheddar, Goth Cheddar." "What's gothic about cheese?" Slouching in his seat, Cheddar quickly changed the subject, "You're not going to drink all of that are you?" "Oh... WELL, it looks like I've been stood up, and nothing helps you over the slump like a drink... or killing a party clown." She mused out loud, "He's an hour late..." Cheddar laughed nervously, not certain he could blame the fellow. Hurley certainly seemed a little... quirky, "I'm sure he's just caught in traffic." "You think so?" "Oh definitely..." The parrot cooed, stifling a laugh with the rim of his glass as he took a quick sip, "I know the feeling, I'm waiting on someone too. She's... what is that smell?" It suddenly smelled as if someone had doused a pile of smelly wet sneakers in turpentine, and lit them afire. With a flap of greasy wings, a small black bird touched down on the counter, cawing at the cat behind the bar, "OI! Puss-in-boots! Ye trying to bring grunge back? Move yer ass! Ah need a drink..." Cocking his head to the side at Cheddar, he made a foul gargling sound as he inhaled, sneering at the parrot, "What're ye looking at, small beak?" The bartender slid a mug across the bar to the magpie, who let out a congested "eek" before it collided with him, squishing his tiny frame between Hurley's mug as the two collided, "Ach... there goes yer tip." Perching on the rim of his glass, the foul little creature dipped his head into the lager, submerging his face in it for a full minute. After drinking down a sizable bit, he came up for air, shaking his head like a wet dog. The black bird glared curiously at Cheddar again, obviously not liking him for some reason or another, "Oi... green boy. I got a question for ye." Cheddar had been breathing through his mouth for the past few minutes, keeping an eye out for Bleu. Though he ignored the tiny vile bird, Magpie continued, "What the fug is a carnation?" Hurley raised her hand as if she was in class, chiming, "I know! I know!" Taking time to have a hacking fit, the black bird hopped off his perch, looking up at the hyena, "Aye?" Pointing proudly to the white flower pinned to the lapel of her longcoat, she offered a wide grin that was somewhere between friendly and insane, "It's a flower, like this one! Wanna smell?" "..." Cheddar opened his mouth, about to say something, then thought better of it, deciding the grungy black bird could take his chances. "No. That's a carnation, what? Then ah'm yer blind date, girlie. Get off yer tail, we're running late." Hurley blinked, realizing he was accusing her... wait a minute, it wasn't her fault they were late! "I know we are! Because of you!" "Shut yer maw, and move it, ye grinning dunce... Fookin' furries..." Magpie muttered, hopping off the counter and waddling towards the booths. Drawing an excessively large pink revolver from her coat, Hurley's hand shook as she followed the bird. "Can't kill him, he's my partner... can't kill him, he's my partner..." Petting the gun, she holstered it with great reluctance, assuring her pet, "After the job... then we kill him." Cheddar took a deep breath as the presence of the black bird began to clear up slowly. Wiping the tears from his eyes, Cheddar choked out finally, "Is he a regular?" Cheshire shrugged, watching the two retreat into the secluded "meeting room" booths. Usually they were used by couples looking for privacy for... well. Otherwise they were used for nefarious private meetings between villains. "No. Most people in his line of work stay out of here." "What does he do?" "He's an evil henchman." "... is that considered a real job?" "I guess so... they have a union I hear." Cheddar finished his drink, not sure quite what to say to that. Meanwhile... There are things which man does not know... and this is as it should be. It's best that the common man remain on his island of ignorance, living through the daily struggle of working for his beer money, not pondering that which lies beyond. But then there are some who destiny allows to glimpse the beyond. Vixen Twobits was one of them. At first glimpse, she was nothing special. Indeed, she was an attractive fox in an androgynous, well kept sort of way, her fur meticulously tended including her bushy tail. While she could pass for an underwear model, no one would think she could be master of the universe... Vixen was an artist... She always had been. The greatest of hairstylists, witty and entertaining with her customers as well as quick and precise with her blades. She could have been content, applying gel to the hair of the stars. But she was a prodigy of the blades, her scissors yearning for something greater... Drawing her dew claw against the length of her three foot scissors in brisk strokes, she sharpened the blades efficiently as the moon began to rise. In this world... a world in which ninety percent of the population had ninety percent of their bodies covered in hair... she who controlled the stylist's blade, controlled the world! It had been a long and arduous road of study, practicing unconventional and forbidden arts of the ancient barbers. But with her superior tools, modern technique, and amazing skill she began to delve deeper into the black arts of hairstyling. Approaching her canvas with reverence, she laid a loving kiss across the blades of her scissors. The virgin sacrifice had been tied down to the alter, the cat girl began mewling pitifully as Vixen loomed over her, the moonlight catching the wicked curve of the fox's blade. As the full moon crested, reaching it's zenith, she struck. *snip snip snip snip snip* Fur flew from her subject in huge patches, the wind carrying it away as the crazed genius of arcane haircare continued her dark work. With a flourish, she sheathed her scissors, a thin wicked smile on her lips as she reached out to retrieve her hair dryer. The kitten blinked, awed that she was unharmed by the haphazard trim. As the scant remaining locks of fur were blown away by the warm gust of the hairdryer, she could see the arcane circles and sigils that remained of her fur. "Meow? ... wow. That's cool! Thanks!" "Shhhh." Vixen hissed, thoroughly disappointed at the sacrifice ruining the mood. Turning off her tape player of spooky druidic chants, Twobits shook her head, "Haven't you the slightest sense of decorum, mindless drone of the status quo? You are my sacrifice to otherworldly forces in a bid for the power to achieve my own ends. You're supposed to be scared." "Sorry... Uhmmm I'm really scared..." The teenage kitten insisted, mewing a couple of times to humor Twobits. "I'm sorry, but I have to know... do you have a salon in the city? Or a business card?" Vixen's shoulders slumped as she reached for the styling mousse, "Just... be quiet. I'm almost finished." Squirting out a pawful of the green foam, she rubbed her claws together, examining the victim with clinical detachment. Working nimbly, she tugged, massaged, coaxed, and otherwise teased the hair into shape with an obsessive-compulsive's zeal for perfection. Glaring at the kitten as she giggled, Vixen hissed, "What is it now?" "Sorry... it tickles!" "... YOU ARE THE WORST SACRIFICE I'VE EVER HAD!" Vixen yipped, before going back to work, frantically trying to overcome her irritation. Finally completing the task, Vixen drew her scissors again, holding them up to the sky. Mumbling arcane words that hadn't been breathed in centuries, Vixen couldn't help but grin as the wind picked up in tempo. The kitten mewed again, chanting, "Shave and a haircut! Two-b..." She stopped as Vixen's arm lashed out, pointing the tip of the wicked scissors at the feline's nose, "... sorry. I thought I was helping." Shaking her head, Twobits finished the incantation, rewarded as the sigils began to glow, unraveling from the cat girl, swirling about in a golden writhing mass of ancient equations. The fur began to knot and weave itself together, slowly taking shape while the kitten screamed. The glow died slowly as the hair knotted itself into a vaguely human shape, squat and unattractive. The creature plopped down on the catgirl's stomach, howling it's birth cry, fists raised in the air. "Oh... it's a sock monkey!" The kitten observed, further aggravating Vixen. The Stylist snipped the bonds of her virgin sacrifice, and pointed a claw to the fire escape, "Alright. Beat it." Putting on her clothes sheepishly, the well groomed kitten dug around in her purse, holding out a ten dollar bill, "Thanks! This is for you! ... so do you have a salon?" Biting her lip, Vixen sighed, yanking the ten spot out of her paw, and nodding, "Fifth and Grand, Nine-Tails Pedicures and Salon. Thank you for your business, but we're about to close. Be gone with you!" Waving again, the girl left Vixen alone with her summoned familiar, "... and you are?" The hair-doll had through infernalism clothed itself in a full body sock, it's button eyes glowing with maliciousness, "Shag, the sock monkey. The nightmare that dwells in the hearts of all children, and the men and women that they grow into..." It was a bold statement from someone two feet tall, but then, Vixen had made certain to follow the ritual explicitly. With the aid of the demon, she would easily be able to achieve her goals... In two more nights, she would rule Supermegatopia, and all would hail her as their queen. And there was no one who could possibly stop her now... And at last she'd have her revenge on the one who had made her suffer so many years ago. The Dark Chocolate Knight, Bleu Belle would be brought low, by a bad hair day that would last an eternity. Meanwhile in a cab across town... "Moooo! Hurry! I'm late!" Bleu tapped her hoof on the floorboard as the camel driving the cab turned leisurely off the main road. Why was it whenever she was in a hurry, everything seemed to get right in her way? The problem with her impromptu date was that she hadn't done the laundry since the week before, leaving her with rather slim pickings for something to wear. It had taken her twenty minutes of deliberation to select an outfit, before she had even begun her prepatory ritual. And now, this cab ride... Waving over his shoulder nonchalantly, he replied, "I know a short cut." Bleu gritted her flat bovine teeth together, having heard that five times already, "Are you sure? I think we passed that sign... twice." Turning about quickly in his chair, the camel's lopsided turban sloping further down over his forehead, he insisted, "Hey, who's driving the cab? I know where we are." Bleu folded her arms over her chest, pouting as the drive continued. An errant juji fruit rolled out of the box the driver kept on the dashboard, catching Bleu's attention, "Well what do you think?" She asked, causing the driver to look in the rearview mirror, "About what?" "Not you." Bleu explained as the Juji fruit shouted for her ears only, "He's kicking up the fare! Want me to bite him?" Bleu mooed, starting to get furious. It wasn't the fact he was trying to take advantage of a country girl... no, it was that she was almost two hours late for her date now. With a righteous moo, her eyes began to swirl ominously as she commanded the juji fruit, "Get him!" The gummi fruits attacked with frightening speed, stretching well beyond what their supposed tensil strength was to ensnare the cabbie like a nest of boa constrictors. The gummi snakes cheered, waking up the Baby Ruth bar in her coat pocket, "Uhmm who's driving the cab?" "... moo." Bleu Belle muttered as the vehicle began to swerve out of control, while the camel in the front seat wrestled the gummy army that continued to choke the life out of him. Leaning over the console, she grabbed the rapidly spinning steering wheel, wrestling desperately for control. "Help!" The thrashing cab camel shouted at the cow as she tried to keep in the right lane. She screamed as the frantic camel rammed his shoulder into her, knocking her hands off the wheel, "Juji's hit the brakes!" Responding immediately, they pounced on the brakes, causing the cab to spin wildly leaving tire tracks across the asphalt as the vehicle performed a 360. With a sudden jolt, the Megatopia cab came to a halt outside the Screaming Possum. Released, the camel flung himself out of the cab and began running, screaming hysterically about Juji Fruit monsters. Watching him flee, Bleu Belle rubbed her forehead letting out a weary, "Moo..." So far it looked like she should have stayed at home. Did Cheddar wait, or had he left in a huff? ... would he call again? Rushing into the karaoke bar, she was only able to relax when she saw the parrot boy sipping at a mai tai with a book in front of him. Heading over timidly, she fought the urge to stampede, which caused her knees to knock together. With a determined snort, she forced herself to make the final steps over to him, and moo softly, "Howdy... Reading the Titan book?" Cheddar looked up from his book with a nonchalant smile, "Oh, hey Bleu! Have a seat!" The bird risked a quick glance at her, having only seen her in jeans the previous day. Dr. Belle cleaned up amazingly well, and for someone who was constantly eating, she had a hell of a figure. The legs extending from her short black skirt were slender, yet well formed. Her arms were much the same, lithe yet lightly marbled with muscle, "Wow..." Still irritated by the trip TO the bar, she rubbed her head, trying to laugh it off, "I thought you'd be worried, I'm sorry, the cab driver... got lost." "Why would I be worried? I knew you'd come!" He assured her with a pleased whistle. Cheshire came back along the bar to the couple, and smiled, patting Cheddar on the head, "I told you she was just running late. Don't be so nervous. You're going to give yourself a heart attack one of these days, kid. What can I get for you?" "White Russian, please!" "Coming up..." Bleu frowned, her wallet already half way out of her purse. She was always carded... ALWAYS! What was wrong? "Hey! Don't you want to see my id?" "No." Cheshire called from across the bar as she looked along the rows for the kahlua. The cowgirl sniffled, beginning to tear up. Was time catching up with her? She couldn't believe it! "But... but... but..." "What? Oh... sorry, I know how old you are..." Cheshire explained with a laugh as she set the drink down, "You see, once when I was just a little girl, an alien science expedition kidnapped a group of earth children, and performed experiments on us, granting us amazing superhuman abilities!" Bleu sipped at her drink sullenly. Why did EVERYONE have to share their damned origin stories with her? Like she didn't have her own to brood over. And this was one of those origins everyone and their dog had too. Alien abduction. Belle snorted derisively as she grabbed a bar pretzel to munch on sullenly. Cheddar meanwhile leaned forward intently, "Go on!" "Well, ever since then I've had the miraculous ability to tell the age of anything at a glance! I can confirm dates on wine bottles, the age of the people who come in, I can tell you how old the bar pretzels are... not that you'd want to know." Bleu looked up from munching, a pretzel dangling from her fingertips. Her left eye began twitching as she asked, "How old?" Cheddar interrupted, much to Cheshire's relief, chiming in, "Wow... so why didn't you become a superhero?" "After all of my private schooling, my father would have had a heart attack! I'd rather be a shoe salesman then a superhero!" The music ground to a halt, the patrons all turning at once to glare at Cheshire, "... sorry." "So, Bleu, do you..." Cheddar found himself at a loss for words as she argued with her pretzel. Not having her unique abilities, he could only hear one side of the conversation, but it was more then enough, "You liar! They didn't MAKE pretzels during the revolutionary war!" "Martin Van Buren did NOT own a pretzel factory!" "Who are you calling an idiot!?! Oh you salty little bastard, why I aughta!" Ending the argument, Bleu Belle popped the pretzel into her mouth, chomping down on him with a sadistic yet satisfied glint in her eyes. Goth Cheddar and Cheshire watched quietly, neither one quite sure what to say. With a nervous giggle, Bleu played with her hair idly, "Uhmmm sorry, what was that, Cheddar?" "So... do you karaoke?" Interlude: The Morning After "Man, that cow is tipped..." "She smells like a brewery." "Someone wake her up!" "But she's always hungry when she wakes up..." "She's the savior, you jerk! It's an honor to be chosen as her breakfast! Go wake her up!" "Yeah, well then YOU do it if it's such an honor!" "You first!" "She told all of us, no chocolate on the comforter! We stain the sheets! So it's up to you!" "... but, isn't there a rule against eating cookies in bed?" "She's waking up, be quiet!" Bleu smiled softly as she opened her eyes to the morning. What a lovely night... Nothing could possibly spoil the perfect night she'd had. Singing, dancing, drinking, talking, it was just perfect. She sat up quickly, "Good mor... oh." The motion caused her head to scream, the joy of the hangover striking her when she least expected it. Her cast iron stomach began to tie itself in knots. Belle hopped out of bed, stampeding for the bathroom. A muffled "BLAAAAAAARG!" came from the bathroom just before the door slammed shut. The small gathering of snacks on her nightstand table looked at each other, the chocolate bar shrugging, "I guess she's not hungry..." +++ Victoria yawned majestically, baring her teeth as she greeted the morning. Immediately, she could feel something was amiss as she opened her eyes. She poked the sleeping form next to her, and Mignon responded by mooing irritably, the well medicated cow not budging an inch. Perhaps it was just nerves... But it smelt like the maid had burnt a lard and sardine omelette. After reaching for her lemon scent deodorizer spray, and using half the can, Victoria finally relaxed, laying back in bed to enjoy another couple of hours dozing when her breath caught at the sight of a woman suspended above her. It was a hyena, her face painted with thick white pancake makeup, black stylized diamonds about her eyes giving her a menacing look. Hurley Quinn winked at the speechless heiress and let go of her grapple, bringing her boots down on Victoria's face, using the lioness' head for a trampoline, "Boing! Morning!" Roaring, Victoria swatted at the clown girl who nimbly cartwheeled over the sweeping claw and off the bed. The lioness watched the clown for another moment, before she dove to reach for her amulet on the bedside table. Hurley waggled a finger at Victoria, delivering a swift punch to her own stomach. Making a gagging noise, the hyena's mouth distended as a pair of small brown organs popped out of her gullet. Whizzing out at impressive speed, they delivered a double strike across Victoria Wainwright's face, leaving a slimy trail and the beginnings of a bruise, "Wha... what the hell was that?" The organs reeled themselves back into Hurley's mouth, the hyena swallowing with an audible "Gulp!" before she licked her lips, clacking her teeth at the heroine, "My kidney punch! But wait! There's more!" Opening her mouth wide again, the hyena heaved, a massive spindle of intestine sliding wetly from her lips. Tossing her head to the side, wielding it as a whip, her small intestine wrapped around Victoria's ankle, dragging her off the bed. The lioness banged her head against the bed stand as she was forcibly removed. Stunned, it took her a moment to realize what was wrapped around her leg. Covering her mouth, she gagged, trying to fight back nausea as she passed out. The intestine hauled itself back into the grinning clown's mouth, her cheeks distending as she closed her mouth on the massive organ. Swallowing mightily, she choked down the mass of small intestine with a merry grin, before leaping back onto the bed. "The lower intestine lasso!", Squatting down on her haunches, she surfed the waves of the water bed to lean over the sleeping Mignon so she might read the bottles on her bedside tabletop. Selecting one brightly colored bottle of pills, she struggled with the child proof lid for a moment, before opening it. Pouring the contents into the trash, she dug about, selecting a box of tic-tacs from her bag of tricks. Refilling the container, she set it back on the bedside table, whistling innocently as she looked around to confirm no one had seen her pull the switch. Hurley socked herself in the stomach again, causing her to belch up her walkie-talkie. Switching it on, she called over the line, "This is Grinning Gal to Dirty Bird! Phase one complete! Proceeding to phase two!" The only response was a greasy hack into the receiver from her partner. "... some people are so gross." She muttered to herself, before choking down the walkie-talkie. Hanging upside down from the bed, she drew a pair of chattering teeth out of her bag of tricks and approached the unconscious Victoria as the teeth began to clack together hungrily. Meanwhile in the kitchen... "Ah'll just help meself..." Magpie insisted, perching on the liquor cabinet. He twisted his head to the side, eyeing the maid, who was still inert and unconscious on the floor. His therapist, Dr. Frink, had discussed his drinking problem a great deal. While they both agreed that he DID have a drinking problem, they disagreed as to what his "drinking problem" was. Frink insisted Magpie had problems coping with life so drank to escape reality. Magpie on the other hand was convinced his "drinking problem" was, "Trying tah open the damned bottles without any fookin' thumbs." Born a mechanical genius with an insidious empathic talent, the Scottish born scavenger worked diligently between drinking binges and collecting bird watching magazines. He broke into a chemical plant, hoping to mutate himself by plunging his little magpie body into a vat of spooky bubbling green liquid, and gain opposable thumbs, that he might rule the world! Sadly, being illiterate, he was unaware the "chemical plant" was in fact a sewage treatment center. A deadly, noxious odor saturated his being, but he had not grown hands... A crippling blow that has since led him to decide on the career of "Criminal Henchbird for Hire", rather then mastermind. As to why he chose the field of super villain, it seems as if he just began the super villainy shtick just to irritate as many people as possible, more then for any personal gain. After ten minutes of trying to grip the twist top of the half full bottle of Cutty scotch, he spitefully kicked it off the shelf, and began working on the bottle of gin next to it. The kitchen door suddenly swung open, a well dressed rabbit entering, his nose wedged into a file, "Alright, I don't have much time today Victoria. Yesterday was a public spectacle... Let's talk about anger management classes again. In the meantime, we need to soften your image. The age forty and above demographic doesn't relate to you... which is bad, since they're the age group we're trying to capitalize on with the Titan "nostalgia"." Barnaby Tull stopped reading to sniff at the air, "Victoria honey, did something die in your kitchen?" "Oi! Bucky! Ah little help here?" Magpie shouted from the liquor cabinet, tapping the bottle of Beefeater with his beak. Barnaby turned to the bird, covering his nose against the smell in the small kitchen, "Where's Victoria? Aren't you..." "Ah'm Magpie. And the lion's busy getting knocked about. Open ma bottle and bugger off if ye want to walk away in one piece, fancy-bunny." Barnaby's eyes narrowed at the tiny foul mouthed little bastard, as he began unbuttoning his coat, "I should warn you. I'm a publicist... Stand aside and let the woman go." Standing at his full height (5'2"), Barnaby let his paws hang at his sides, as if in the middle of a showdown at high noon. Magpie snorted, snapping open his own coat as if mocking the rabbit, "Ye want a piece of me, ye great nancy?" Barnaby didn't really have any super powers... but he figured he outweighed the bird by a good hundred and thirty pounds, and was also about four feet taller. He didn't think his odds were too bad. Standing his ground, the rabbit's hand shot into his coat pocket, reaching for his cell phone. Magpie responded in kind throwing out his wings to their full span, his leather coat opening wide. Barnaby could see the foul green air that radiated from within, the stench striking the publicist as if it were a palpable thing, lifting him off of his feet, and throwing him across the room. Magpie closed his wings after a moment, spitting out a greenish yellow glob of smoker's mucus, "Sit yer tail down. Ye volunteered to be me hostage, ye carrot sucker." The publicist slumped to the floor, his eyes rolling back in his skull. Abandoning the gin, Magpie looked from the unconscious rabbit to a sealed lager bottle then back to the rabbit, his incredible mind forming a plan. Gripping the bottle in his claws, he took to the air, cawing at the inert publicist. Performing the geometric calculations in his head, accounting for air-conditioning the bird steadied himself in position, finally dropping the bottle. Magpie grinned as it made a satisfying "THUNK", colliding with Barnaby's forehead. Hopping onto the rabbit's chest, he propped the bottle up on Barnaby's shoulder, nosing it into place after a few failed attempts. Wedging the rabbit's front teeth atop the bottle cap, Magpie jumped up and down on Barnaby's head until he heard the "pop" of the top. Knocking the bottle free, Magpie let Barnaby's head slump forward to smack against the linoleum flooring. "Aye, just remember... there's no such thing as bad publicity, what? Stupid fook'." Magpie snorted before tipping the bottle on it's side, and clamping his beak on the opening, draining the bottle. The radio squawked at him before he could get a second round, "Don't move, right-right, bunny?" Leaping up to the counter, he pushed the button, "Are ye ready to go or what? Why does it always take fookin' women so long to get ready?" Static came over the other line, a prolonged silence from Hurley Quinn. Finally the signal picked up again with the brief message, "I hate you..." "Have ye got it or not? Yer bollocks as a criminal. Don't quit yer day job, ye party clown." "I've got it! I've got it! And I'm not a party clown! I'm a police officer!" "Ach... ye mean there's a difference? Move yer tail, ye furry dunce, we've got the meeting in fifteen minutes." "I'm never working with you again!" "Oh yer breaking me heart, ye big top fashion victim..." Magpie grunted, flying out the kitchen window as he made his escape from the Wainwright estate. They were probably going to be late, but then he never was one for punctuality. Besides, it wasn't as if it was his fault.
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