Post by Weasel Freak on Dec 30, 2008 19:31:14 GMT -5
I've changed my mind. The Toon Patrol will NOT be in this fic.
"Hah hee hee! This is just a total sucker game! Too easy!" Quackerjack clapped his hands together with glee. The sound echoed throughout the Acme warehouse, which they found to be the perfect hideout. The four super-villains were sitting on wooden crates surrounding a small table, which had a clattered mess of empty soda cans, TV dinner boxes, McDonald’s food wrappers, cards and several red poker chips dumped on and around it.
"That’s correct, my friend! With the us on the job, nothing can go wrong!" the Liquidator added optimistically, pointer finger up.
Bushroot, however, was far from optimistic. He sat there, looking concerned and anxious, rubbing his hands together unintentionally. "I sure hope not, who knows what Marvolo will do to us if we don't succeed? He's out of his tree!" Bushroot threw a hand in the air. "He's nuts! Crazy! Looney! Fresh out of the local Insane Asylum! I still don’t agree with this. . ."
"Nonsense," Liquidator said, launching into another ad campaign. "If you need reliable henchmen, if you need a trustworthy workforce, get the best- hire the Fearsome Four. We’re always successful-- when bribed with half a million dollars, of course."
"Almost always," grumbled Megavolt, his head in his hands. Quackerjack held a banana-headed doll in his face.
"Mr. Banana Brain says, Cheer up, Sparky!"
”Mr. Banana Brain says, Cheer up, Sparky!"
"Don’t call me Sparky," Megavolt spat at him, attempting to bat the doll away. "Ya know, for once I agree with Melonhead. It’s just a bit, say, uncomfortable to work for a- uhm. Hm. What was he again? Carpenter? No- Doctor? No."
"Mass murderer?" Bushroot suggested.
"Right."
"Oh yeah," agreed Bushroot. "He gives me the creeps. He broke out of the National Super-Villain Prison, you know. I’m really thinking about leaving this one to you guys."
Quackerjack crossed his arms, beak up in the air, and said in a sing-song voice, “Scaredy-cat ba-bies."
"Are not!" Bushroot protested.
"Are too.” Then, with a smirk, he started chanting: “At first glance, folks would say
"You’re no better than Sideshow Bob.
“But you two showed your true colors
“When Marvolo gave us this job. (He made his voice high and whiney)
“Sparky says he feels queasy,
“Cabbagebrain says Marvolo makes him uneasy. (His voice changed back to normal)
“But clever Quackerjack knows better: You’re just
“So weak, right to the core,
“Widdle kittens, too fwightened to do a big, bad, simple childrens‘ chore."
"No way!" Megavolt snapped, his fists and cap sparking angrily with electricity.
"Prove it."
“How?”
“Help us with the job, doi.”
“Uh, wellllll. . .“ Megavolt glanced at Bushroot, who returned the nervous look.
“Oh come on guys,” Quackerjack said, holding his hands out in front of himself, palms facing upward. “Don’t tell me two of the most powerful villains in St. Canard and Toontown are afraid of a guy without superpowers nor any kind of special talent?”
“Not afraid. Just uneasy. There is a difference.”
Bushroot nodded in agreement with Megavolt. “Besides, that man has Tommy guns and Bazookas and axes hung up all over his apartment, I mean please. . .”
“We worked for Negaduck,” the Liquidator pointed out, “And you weren’t frightened of him.”
“Weren’t frightened? Are you kidding, you’re saying that you weren’t scared out of your wits when he cornered you with a chainsaw, threatening to slice your head off?!” Megavolt looked at him like he had two heads.
“You've got a point there, pal. But this job’ll be over before you can say, Here’s your five hundred thousand dollar check,” Quackerjack coaxed. “Please, we need you.”
“Ugh. Okay, O-kay, I’ll be in cahoots with you.” said Megavolt reluctantly. “But you’ll owe me.” Megavolt then glared at Bushroot.
“Erm. . . Fine, fine. If he helps, well, I‘m with him.” Bushroot sighed. “But--”
All of a sudden a ringing noise was heard. It was the pen-phone.
"I’ll get it." Megavolt grumbled. He picked up the contraption from the table, pushed a button on top and growled, "What do you want?“ But his attitude changed very quickly upon listening to the phone. "--Oh, uh, Mr. Marvolo, sir, master, lord, uh, h-how are you? Has that dreadful headache gone away? . . . I see. Very unfortunate-- Uh, yes, sir? . . . . . . . Yes sir. . . Of course, sir. Right away, sir. . . Have a nice day, sir." He hung up the pen-phone and faced the others, who had been listening intently to Megavolt’s side of the conversation. "We’re traveling to northern Canada. He says there’s a problem, and our job is to help him with it."
"Yippie skip," sighed the Liquidator, his chin resting on his knuckles. “Right smack-dab in the middle of winter.”
"Hah hee hee! This is just a total sucker game! Too easy!" Quackerjack clapped his hands together with glee. The sound echoed throughout the Acme warehouse, which they found to be the perfect hideout. The four super-villains were sitting on wooden crates surrounding a small table, which had a clattered mess of empty soda cans, TV dinner boxes, McDonald’s food wrappers, cards and several red poker chips dumped on and around it.
"That’s correct, my friend! With the us on the job, nothing can go wrong!" the Liquidator added optimistically, pointer finger up.
Bushroot, however, was far from optimistic. He sat there, looking concerned and anxious, rubbing his hands together unintentionally. "I sure hope not, who knows what Marvolo will do to us if we don't succeed? He's out of his tree!" Bushroot threw a hand in the air. "He's nuts! Crazy! Looney! Fresh out of the local Insane Asylum! I still don’t agree with this. . ."
"Nonsense," Liquidator said, launching into another ad campaign. "If you need reliable henchmen, if you need a trustworthy workforce, get the best- hire the Fearsome Four. We’re always successful-- when bribed with half a million dollars, of course."
"Almost always," grumbled Megavolt, his head in his hands. Quackerjack held a banana-headed doll in his face.
"Mr. Banana Brain says, Cheer up, Sparky!"
”Mr. Banana Brain says, Cheer up, Sparky!"
"Don’t call me Sparky," Megavolt spat at him, attempting to bat the doll away. "Ya know, for once I agree with Melonhead. It’s just a bit, say, uncomfortable to work for a- uhm. Hm. What was he again? Carpenter? No- Doctor? No."
"Mass murderer?" Bushroot suggested.
"Right."
"Oh yeah," agreed Bushroot. "He gives me the creeps. He broke out of the National Super-Villain Prison, you know. I’m really thinking about leaving this one to you guys."
Quackerjack crossed his arms, beak up in the air, and said in a sing-song voice, “Scaredy-cat ba-bies."
"Are not!" Bushroot protested.
"Are too.” Then, with a smirk, he started chanting: “At first glance, folks would say
"You’re no better than Sideshow Bob.
“But you two showed your true colors
“When Marvolo gave us this job. (He made his voice high and whiney)
“Sparky says he feels queasy,
“Cabbagebrain says Marvolo makes him uneasy. (His voice changed back to normal)
“But clever Quackerjack knows better: You’re just
“So weak, right to the core,
“Widdle kittens, too fwightened to do a big, bad, simple childrens‘ chore."
"No way!" Megavolt snapped, his fists and cap sparking angrily with electricity.
"Prove it."
“How?”
“Help us with the job, doi.”
“Uh, wellllll. . .“ Megavolt glanced at Bushroot, who returned the nervous look.
“Oh come on guys,” Quackerjack said, holding his hands out in front of himself, palms facing upward. “Don’t tell me two of the most powerful villains in St. Canard and Toontown are afraid of a guy without superpowers nor any kind of special talent?”
“Not afraid. Just uneasy. There is a difference.”
Bushroot nodded in agreement with Megavolt. “Besides, that man has Tommy guns and Bazookas and axes hung up all over his apartment, I mean please. . .”
“We worked for Negaduck,” the Liquidator pointed out, “And you weren’t frightened of him.”
“Weren’t frightened? Are you kidding, you’re saying that you weren’t scared out of your wits when he cornered you with a chainsaw, threatening to slice your head off?!” Megavolt looked at him like he had two heads.
“You've got a point there, pal. But this job’ll be over before you can say, Here’s your five hundred thousand dollar check,” Quackerjack coaxed. “Please, we need you.”
“Ugh. Okay, O-kay, I’ll be in cahoots with you.” said Megavolt reluctantly. “But you’ll owe me.” Megavolt then glared at Bushroot.
“Erm. . . Fine, fine. If he helps, well, I‘m with him.” Bushroot sighed. “But--”
All of a sudden a ringing noise was heard. It was the pen-phone.
"I’ll get it." Megavolt grumbled. He picked up the contraption from the table, pushed a button on top and growled, "What do you want?“ But his attitude changed very quickly upon listening to the phone. "--Oh, uh, Mr. Marvolo, sir, master, lord, uh, h-how are you? Has that dreadful headache gone away? . . . I see. Very unfortunate-- Uh, yes, sir? . . . . . . . Yes sir. . . Of course, sir. Right away, sir. . . Have a nice day, sir." He hung up the pen-phone and faced the others, who had been listening intently to Megavolt’s side of the conversation. "We’re traveling to northern Canada. He says there’s a problem, and our job is to help him with it."
"Yippie skip," sighed the Liquidator, his chin resting on his knuckles. “Right smack-dab in the middle of winter.”