![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
The game has been called, the players have retreated for safer ground and the demon bunnies have, after growing bored with gnawing on bases and bats (not the fun kind), moved on. Once again, the baseball field is quiet. Almost serene.
"I'll take you out with attack bunnies.
I'll take you out with a shaaaaaark.
Buy me an Eggo and Hot Po-cket.
Or I'll rip your arm out its so-o-cket."
Out of the woods creeps Dr. Evil, scanning the ground with a machine that blips but doesn't appear to do much else. He and his (approximate) clone in one-eigth form are wearing full HAZMAT suits. As they cross into left field, a lone bunny hops over and regards them with blood red eyes.
"Shoo. Shoo," orders the evil doctor, making wild hand motions that convey the same message. The bunny continues to stare. "Shoo, Bunnicula. Before I rearrange your photoreceptor cells and introduce you to a terrine, you crimson-eyed freak."
When this accomplishes nothing, Mini-Me smiles from ear to ear and blasts the bunny with a fire extinguisher. The bunny hops off.
"Well done, Mini-Me. The trajectory was exquisite. You're my special boy! Perhaps you should have been a Paradox. Or..." He lifts his pinky to his mouth. "An En-ig-ma?"
Mini-Me copies Dr. Evil's stance and nods enthusiastically, while keeping one eye on another bunny. This one is lurking on the foul line, looking a bit worse for wear and strangely... full. It won't be hopping anywhere anytime soon.
Dr. Evil fails to notice. "Number Two's Demon Leporid Attack Itching Powder is a success. Stick that in your cottontail and smoke it!" He pauses to reconsider that suggestion, then shrugs. "I won't have to dip Number Two in magma first thing Monday Morning. Pity. I do so love a good mag-ma dunking. Sets the tone for the week. Yeah, really. No. Number Two is safe! Did you see what I did there, Mini-Me? He's safe from mag-ma, but it's also a baseball meta-" He does a complete turn. "Mini-Me? No! Down, Mini-Me. We don't gnaw on Daddy's science experiment."
Mini-Me holds his fingers slightly apart and looks hopeful. Just a little?
"Oh, all right. You know I can't resist my own puppy eyes in one-eighth form. Okay, that was weird."
Unconcerned, Mini-Me gnaws on a chunk of demon bunny ear like it was a piece of beef jerky.
"Now all my minions have to do is round up some attack demon rabbits for our own evil use and..." Dr. Evil trips over something and faceplants in the grass. "It's all right. Meant to do that. Stretching. That's right. Calisthenics. Forgot my leg warmers." He reaches down, grabs an abandoned baseball mit; his beady eyes get shiny. "Be evil, and the minions will come." Beat. "Okay. No more gnawing. You can have an evil snack later, after arts and crafts."
Rolling around like a beached whale, Dr. Evil finally rights himself and throws the mitt to Mini-Me. Most of the way, anyway. He shuffles over to home plate and finds a bat. After many elaborate and ridiculous 'warm-up swings' he steps into the box.
"Daddy needs you to pitch now. Yeah. Don't hold back."
Somehow, Mini Me has a pile of baseballs beside him when he takes the mound. It's better not to ask. He eyes Dr. Evil through his HAZMAT helmet and lets go of the ball.
It sails past Dr. Evil's head like a bullet and crashes into the stands. Dr. Evil swings anyway, so hard that he does two complete turns before stopping, facing away from his clone.
"Riiiiight." He blinks. "Clearly you got Daddy's athletic prowess. Yeah. Perhaps you should pitch underhand."
He does. Another swing and a miss!
"Meant to do that, too."
This time, Dr. Evil crosses halfway to the mound and tells his clone to "Just toss it like a frickin' bean bag."
Mini-Me tosses the ball, underhand and without any real effort. Dr. Evil swings and... completely misses. He blinks, then throws the bat high over his shoulder and starts running for first. "I'm running! I'm running!" The bat lands on home plate with a disturbing thump.
Valiantly, Mini-Me refrains from pointing out that he's not so much running as skipping, mostly because Mini-Me never bothers to speak.
"I'm stealing second! Stealing second!"
Mini-Me watches. He's used to Daddy not making much sense.
Dr. Evil rounds third base (without touching it) and does a slow motion run for home. It's so close he can taste it! Victory will be his! Next: the world! He slides, fingers reaching out...
And stops just shy of touching the plate.
"Riiiiiight. Baseball is a ridiculous game. Come on, Mini-Me. Let's go back to the lair. All this physical activity is making me hungry. I could use a Hot Pocket. Or perhaps a Lean Pocket? I don't know. I worked out. I feel healthy."
The evil doctor pulls his dirt-stained monochromatic futuristic jacket back into place and marches toward second, where Mini-Me has just ripped second plate off the ground. He offers it up, grinning.
Dr. Evil regards him with pursed lips. "Okaaaaaay. Daddy's told you not to be so literal. Yeah. Read the rule book." He bobs his head and lets out a hissing sort of laugh. "Bring it. Daddy will let his precious clone paint the base and put it in the evil trophy case. Or throw it at minions. Whatever. Now Daddy has to consider real world applications for angry, itchy demon bunnies. Also large-scale Hot Pocket microwave sleeves. Time to go."
He tries to whistle as he walks away, then settles for improvising another verse:
"I'll bet bet bet on the evil team
If they don't win it's a crime
For it's one, two, three chances you've got
...is that an ascot?
Riiiight.
And really bad eggs."
"I'll take you out with attack bunnies.
I'll take you out with a shaaaaaark.
Buy me an Eggo and Hot Po-cket.
Or I'll rip your arm out its so-o-cket."
Out of the woods creeps Dr. Evil, scanning the ground with a machine that blips but doesn't appear to do much else. He and his (approximate) clone in one-eigth form are wearing full HAZMAT suits. As they cross into left field, a lone bunny hops over and regards them with blood red eyes.
"Shoo. Shoo," orders the evil doctor, making wild hand motions that convey the same message. The bunny continues to stare. "Shoo, Bunnicula. Before I rearrange your photoreceptor cells and introduce you to a terrine, you crimson-eyed freak."
When this accomplishes nothing, Mini-Me smiles from ear to ear and blasts the bunny with a fire extinguisher. The bunny hops off.
"Well done, Mini-Me. The trajectory was exquisite. You're my special boy! Perhaps you should have been a Paradox. Or..." He lifts his pinky to his mouth. "An En-ig-ma?"
Mini-Me copies Dr. Evil's stance and nods enthusiastically, while keeping one eye on another bunny. This one is lurking on the foul line, looking a bit worse for wear and strangely... full. It won't be hopping anywhere anytime soon.
Dr. Evil fails to notice. "Number Two's Demon Leporid Attack Itching Powder is a success. Stick that in your cottontail and smoke it!" He pauses to reconsider that suggestion, then shrugs. "I won't have to dip Number Two in magma first thing Monday Morning. Pity. I do so love a good mag-ma dunking. Sets the tone for the week. Yeah, really. No. Number Two is safe! Did you see what I did there, Mini-Me? He's safe from mag-ma, but it's also a baseball meta-" He does a complete turn. "Mini-Me? No! Down, Mini-Me. We don't gnaw on Daddy's science experiment."
Mini-Me holds his fingers slightly apart and looks hopeful. Just a little?
"Oh, all right. You know I can't resist my own puppy eyes in one-eighth form. Okay, that was weird."
Unconcerned, Mini-Me gnaws on a chunk of demon bunny ear like it was a piece of beef jerky.
"Now all my minions have to do is round up some attack demon rabbits for our own evil use and..." Dr. Evil trips over something and faceplants in the grass. "It's all right. Meant to do that. Stretching. That's right. Calisthenics. Forgot my leg warmers." He reaches down, grabs an abandoned baseball mit; his beady eyes get shiny. "Be evil, and the minions will come." Beat. "Okay. No more gnawing. You can have an evil snack later, after arts and crafts."
Rolling around like a beached whale, Dr. Evil finally rights himself and throws the mitt to Mini-Me. Most of the way, anyway. He shuffles over to home plate and finds a bat. After many elaborate and ridiculous 'warm-up swings' he steps into the box.
"Daddy needs you to pitch now. Yeah. Don't hold back."
Somehow, Mini Me has a pile of baseballs beside him when he takes the mound. It's better not to ask. He eyes Dr. Evil through his HAZMAT helmet and lets go of the ball.
It sails past Dr. Evil's head like a bullet and crashes into the stands. Dr. Evil swings anyway, so hard that he does two complete turns before stopping, facing away from his clone.
"Riiiiight." He blinks. "Clearly you got Daddy's athletic prowess. Yeah. Perhaps you should pitch underhand."
He does. Another swing and a miss!
"Meant to do that, too."
This time, Dr. Evil crosses halfway to the mound and tells his clone to "Just toss it like a frickin' bean bag."
Mini-Me tosses the ball, underhand and without any real effort. Dr. Evil swings and... completely misses. He blinks, then throws the bat high over his shoulder and starts running for first. "I'm running! I'm running!" The bat lands on home plate with a disturbing thump.
Valiantly, Mini-Me refrains from pointing out that he's not so much running as skipping, mostly because Mini-Me never bothers to speak.
"I'm stealing second! Stealing second!"
Mini-Me watches. He's used to Daddy not making much sense.
Dr. Evil rounds third base (without touching it) and does a slow motion run for home. It's so close he can taste it! Victory will be his! Next: the world! He slides, fingers reaching out...
And stops just shy of touching the plate.
"Riiiiiight. Baseball is a ridiculous game. Come on, Mini-Me. Let's go back to the lair. All this physical activity is making me hungry. I could use a Hot Pocket. Or perhaps a Lean Pocket? I don't know. I worked out. I feel healthy."
The evil doctor pulls his dirt-stained monochromatic futuristic jacket back into place and marches toward second, where Mini-Me has just ripped second plate off the ground. He offers it up, grinning.
Dr. Evil regards him with pursed lips. "Okaaaaaay. Daddy's told you not to be so literal. Yeah. Read the rule book." He bobs his head and lets out a hissing sort of laugh. "Bring it. Daddy will let his precious clone paint the base and put it in the evil trophy case. Or throw it at minions. Whatever. Now Daddy has to consider real world applications for angry, itchy demon bunnies. Also large-scale Hot Pocket microwave sleeves. Time to go."
He tries to whistle as he walks away, then settles for improvising another verse:
"I'll bet bet bet on the evil team
If they don't win it's a crime
For it's one, two, three chances you've got
...is that an ascot?
Riiiight.
And really bad eggs."