doc_evil | (no subject)

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They have hidden high.

They have hidden low.

They have disguised themselves and assembled a small arsenal of random weapons from the forgotten corners of Milliways.

They had a brief delay when one of them had a bit of an existential crisis, but it's probably best to ignore that if one doesn't want to be dunked in magma.

They have come out today prepared, nay eager, for a confrontation. One way or another, this will end.

Or maybe they just want some ice cream. It's a toss up, really.

Doctor Evil, black paint smeared under his eyes and a new quasi-futuristic camouflage suit on his person, crawls out of a paneled hole in the wall and looks around the bar before beckoning for Mini Me to follow. His magnificent clone in 1/8 form is similarly clad and drags a heavy knapsack behind him. The Little Guy fixes his beady eyes on Bar and makes a series of complicated gestures at the Doctor.

"What? Go three steps sideways and wed a chicken?"

Doctor Evil purses his lips.

"Yeah. No idea what you're saying."

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Doctor Evil watches a suction dart go flying toward the bulletin board and stick to the wall with a loud twang before he turns his attention to this new person.

"Riiiiiiight. Okay."

He blinks and lifts his chin, brushing biscotti crumbs off his chest.

"I am 'enjoying' an 'e-vil cappuccino' while my clone finds some new toys." His eyes narrow. "Why? What have you heard?"

Beat.

"And do you have an Eggo? No? Oh, well. Worth a shot."

"I hear many things," Santo says as he puts the nightmare of a fruit down on the nearest table. "I work for Security, and I like to keep an eye on potential trouble."

Evil cappuccinos are not, so far as he knows, trouble. But the Lost and Found box could potentially be a problem.

Unless you get the cayenne pepper up your nose, which is what Doctor Evil seems to have done on this, his next troublesome sip. He coughs and hacks a moment, openly eyeing the durian fruit as he pulls himself together. What is it? Why did this Security person whisk it away so quickly? Is it evil?

He must have it for his own.

Clearly.

"Just one? Why not both? Honestly. A place like this and the security minions just keep one eye open."

He looks at Mini-Me and shakes his head.

"As you might have heard, I am..." he pauses for effect "...Doctor Evil. This is Mini-Me, my exquisite clone. Just look at that bone structure. He's like the Mona Lisa of cloning experiments. The double stuff Oreo, even.

"Who are you?" he asks. "I know 'X.' Yeah. Very sharp."

He lets loose an evil cackle, amused by his own joke.

Clearly. Santo would stop him, but few people seem to be really interested in spiny fruits that so visibly give off an aura of danger. It might very well be his, for all the luchador knows.

"I have my reasons," he says smoothly. "Buenos tardes, Doctor Evil. I am El Santo. From time to time I work with X, but usually our shifts are different. A question, if I may ask: are you an evil scientist, or an evil physician?"

He doesn't see many of the latter, for some reason.

El Santo.

El Santo.

That, Doctor Evil thinks, is an excellent name for a minion. Not just any minion, mind you.

Management.

He straightens up and gives El Santo, potential minion, another look.

"Yes."

Beat.

"Also an evil paleontologist, evil linguist, evil statistician, and evil esthetician. Yeah."

Doctor Evil takes a step toward the fruit.

"Ah, I see," says Santo, nodding sagely. "I've known more than a few scientists in my time, although none of them were paleontologists, I think. Archaeologists, or physicists, mostly."

He glances to the durian.

"Is this yours? These are a bad idea to leave lying around. Someone might break it open."

The Little Guy's safe exploration of the Lost and Found box slows to a stop at the arrival of El Santo. Not because he's at all concerned about the towering man in the silver mask, but because something the towering man in the silver mask has done has prompted Doctor Evil to shift slightly.

Is there soon to be an attack?
Will the doctor make a break for it?
Or worse yet...is El Santo a threat to The Little Guy's position in Doctor Evil's life....

He turns and watches both men cautiously.

"I used to know some evil physicists. They helped design my Big Boy. Yeah. Launched me into orbit. I left instructions for them to be liquidated, however. They were insolent. They ate all the Hot Pockets." Eyebrows arched, Doctor Evil considers his options and lands on, "Yes?"

He freezes, eyes on the fruit.

"Why? Is it an.... evil fruit?" he asks, hopefully, eyes darting to Mini-Me and back.

"I'm not sure if it's evil, exactly," says El Santo, "but I have smelled what happens when one of these cracks open. If it isn't evil, it very much gives the impression that it wants to be. You should be careful. That sort of thing shouldn't be used lightly."

He can, if he tries, come up with a few good uses for durians. Most of them have to do with monsters; he has, after all, fought at least one wolfman, and he's fairly sure the Martians would be incapacitated by the reek as well.

"Riiiiiight."

Bad smells aren't evil enough, of course, but it might be a good start.

Particularly if he can convince Scott to try and eat it.

What a laugh.

"Yes. It is mine. My evil fruit."

He calmly plucks what looks to be a grenade from the bandolier he's wearing and replaces it with the fruit.

"What about you? Do you enjoy working security?"

"It's a good use of my strength and skill to protect people in the Bar," says Santo. "There are all kinds of people here who would cause trouble if they could. Somebody has to make sure they don't get away with that."

He glances sidelong towards the door; it seemed like someone was moving suspiciously in his peripheral vision, and he's been jumped too many times in and out of the ring not to notice that kind of thing.

Things Santo may have seen may start to blend with things he may hear.

"Bro. Bro bro bro."

"Bro."

The Tracksuits approacheth.

Doctor Evil looks left.

He looks right.

When that checks out, he does a series of small hops to try to see over Santo's head, then lets out a high-pitched shriek as the first Bro reaches his bro-attuned ears. Quick as he can, he lobs the inactive grenade -- or was it the fruit? -- at the litany of bro, bro, bro and leaps over the bar.

Hopefully Mini-Me got out of the way.

"What the-"

Santo's going to have to leap into action, of course, but he's also going to have to pinch his nose shortly, because durian.

so.

much.

DURIAN.

He may stagger for a bit- this would be a good time to act, before he can properly intervene!

And that's when the attack came, not from the front...but from the sides. From the Bros they didn't even know where there.

And had The Little Guy not been paying such fixated and single-minded attention to his Doctor and Santo...he could have done something about it, rather than just reacted to it.

Where Doctor Evil Goes, The Little Guy follows.
His face contorts into a mask of pure nightmarish rage, all rows of his razor-sharp teeth exposed in as he hisses.

What.

Is.

That.

SMELL?

Crab-walking behind the toothy whirling dervish that is Mini-Me, Doctor Evil pulls his quasi-futuristic suit coat up over his nose and wipes his watering eyes.

"No. No, no. That won't do. As a weapon it is very effective, yeah, but at what cost? At what cost, my perfect clone?"

He watches Mini-Me go after a tracksuit's ankles.

"Yeah. Terrible twos. Every clone has them, my evil genetics team tells me. Very ornery. Also rabid."

He nods, pushes himself off the bar to dodge a Tracksuit and runs at a section of wall, hand out to hit the door mechanism hidden in plain sight. He trusts Mini- Me will follow like a good clone.

Once he's done chewing.

And possibly flossing.

"Bro. What smells, bro?"

A swing of a baseball bat.

"Is gross, bro."

Mini-Me should prepare to be kicked.

"Seriously, bro."

Liquor bottles make excellent weapons. Satisfying smash.

"Over there, bro!"

Don't let the bastard get away!

A bottle smashes just above Doctor Evil. He ducks reflexively and smacks the wall, a section of which opens about waist high on the evil genius; didn't that used to be taller? Blinking, he pulls his suddenly damp hand back, sniffs, and makes a face.

"Cognac?" He sniffs again. "Courvoisier? What is this, an early 2000s Busta Rhymes music television video? Perhaps a 1990s Ice Berg song? Or is it Vanilla Ice? Iced Tea? I don't know. There's so many. Yeah. I don't understand why they all name themselves after ice. Honestly."

The whole situation is ri-god-damn-diculous.

"Mini-Me, on my six. Seven? Whatever."

With that he turns and steps through the door... only to find himself falling down a long, steep slide.

"AIIIieEEEEEEEEEEEEIIIIIaaaaaae!" echoes up into the main bar, amid the sound of biting and smashing bottles.

One of the bottles goes sailing by Santo's head.

It tries to, anyway. The luchador snatches it out of midair. "No throwing bottles in the bar, senor!" he says sternly. "Take your quarrel outside if you plan to do it this way!"

The Little Guy is tiny. Some might even say smol. So tiny that he could easily pass for a pre-schooler. Which is why it speaks volumes of the character of the Bro leveling a kick at his diminutive frame. Only a base villain would attempt such a thing.

He's adorable.
He's barely knee high.
He's...got a mouth full of razor sharp teeth that are going to latch on to whatever comes close to causing him harm.

Okay, so maybe it along with character, trying to kick The Little Guy also speaks volumes about one's lack of preservation instinct.

Tiny bro is annoying, bro.

"Stop biting, bro!"

These base villains don't like teeth.

Sh-sh-sh-shake it off, bros.

Masked man says outside, so they follow the bald man through the door.

"Brrooooooooooo."

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Doctor Evil continues to shout, flat on his back with his arms and legs flailing in the air. He arrived in his current position thirty seconds earlier, but even evil geniuses have a hard time coping with certain surprises.

"Ahhhhhhhhh. Ah. Ahhh."

Doctor Evil blinks and wipes his hand over his mouth, surprised to discover it smells distinctly... chocolatey. How odd. Ridiculous, even. He likes his chocolate hot and covered in marshmallows, not hard and caked under his fingernails. Honestly.

A quick glance around reveals walls constructed of rock and some sort of brown, sweet smelling brick. He looks again at his nails and concludes, "I must have been stress eating again. Yeah. Perhaps that infernal Almond Joy, even though I never feel like a nut. No."

(BrrooooooooooooooooOOOOOOO)

"Hmmm."

Beat.

"I should. Yeah. Gotta go."

Doctor Evil leaps up, drops into a fighting crouch, and crab walks back several paces.

Right to the edge of the chocolate borehole to end all chocolate boreholes.

They advance. On two feet. Like normal bros.

"Big hole, bro."

"Looks like bad news, bro."

"Bad for him, bro."

"Bro."

They aren't wrong.

It does look bad.

Because he's evil.

"But... how. This isn't in the script. I am an evil genius!"

Arms windmilling, Doctor Evil regains his balance and chances a glance over his shoulder. There's a ledge running around the left edge of the pit, narrow but passable for an evil genius with regrettably small feet, and a means of egress on the other side. He presses his lips together in smug satisfaction and looks back at first Mini-Me, then the idiots to whom Mini-Me is still attached.

(Someone is going to need their booster shots.)

Now that he has determined this overly elaborate death scenario is escapable -- if not as easily escapable as he prefers -- Doctor Evil decides it is time for his favorite villainous trope: the monologue.

"Riiiight. We meet again. And your little friend, too. Hello, Mini-Me! Hi! You're my special boy! But the rest of you... at last we see each other plain. Yeah. Monsieur, le Bros, you wear a different... no. Actually you wear the same exact thing you always do. So tacky," opines the man with several closets full of the same gray suit. "Now I will break you by talking at you until your brain leaks out your ears and your life is pain and your tracksuits crumble to dust and also you miss snack time. Did you actu-a-lly believe you could destroy me? An evil genius with a freaking evil medical degree? An evil titan, nay, a god, but like the god of itches you can't reach or long lines at an overheated DMV? Kneel before my evil genius! Nothing can stop me now! Tonight I'm going to have myself a real evil time. I feel aliiii iii iiiive. The world. I'll turn it inside out. Yeah. Don't stop me, can't stop me..." He pauses, because musical interludes are really more Austin's thing. "I was also Top Evil Chef, third season, but I don't have room for that on my resume. Yeah. Look it up.

"But no, no. I have you now, my sartorially challenged friends, and the war my evil empire and chain of delicious coffee shops shall wage upon you has just begun! Well. It began when we met, I suppose. Yeah. Then. Anyway, you have been unwitting pawns in my grand design -- I have a powerpoint presentation queued up for later -- and it has landed us here, in this chocolate scented monument to your humiliation and defeat! Or is it my ego? I skimmed that part of the evil curriculum. Yeah. Audited Evil Monologue 101. Doesn't matter."

Sucking in a deep breath, Doctor Evil leans back -- wait, no, bad idea -- and lets out an especially evil laugh. Muahahahahahahahaha!

Why aren't they laughing nervously with him? Don't they know that's how this goes? Hacks.

"As long as there is evil, I shall be the genius of it. As long as I am an evil genius, I will need henchmen. You currently serve an inferior... boss of largely illegal things. But just between you and me, I am a world class employer. Yeah. Henchman #9 at my Volcano Lair even gave me a 'Best Boss' mug. I keep my collection of rare old vintage Happy Meal toys in it. So far it is just the one. Because it was the only one that fit."

Beat.

"Too bad I had to kill Henchman #9 for insubordination. Would you like to hear how he diiiiiied?" Doctor Evil claps his hands together and rubs them, beady eyes widening in an alarming fashion. "Vegetarian Piranha. Really. Riiiiight. Where was I? Queen, tropes, monument to your humiliation and defeat and also maybe my evil ego..... Riiiiight. My grand plan to make you my henchmen being fully realized. This was all a test! You will be spared and we can rule together! Muahahahaha! Except of course I will actually rule the world and you will serve me for less than minimum wage because I am e-vil and a Trump supporter. How about it? No? Don't make me destroy you. We could be evil anti-heroes, just for one day, or like... five. Five is good."

Doctor Evil looks at the Bros. They look back. None of them look too impressed with the narrative work he is doing.

"Without me, you have no chance to survive this not-as-easily-escapable-as-I-would-like death scenario! Can you smell what these rocks are cooking?" He does a dramatic inhale of the steadily increasing chocolate fumes. Thick chocolate drips on his shoulder, but he ignores it because he's a professional. "A fate worse than death is all that awaits, and I, I have been preparing for this for weeks. Months! However long it as been since we met. I don't know. I don't do time. I have minions to keep track of that for me. But you. I know your weaknesses. I know how to turn the tables on you. Well. Maybe just one. Tables are heavy and my arms aren't very strong. Because minions do a lot of stuff for me. I just said that. Keep up.

"It reminds me of the time Austin Powers thought he'd cornered me above a pool of ill-tempered sea bass. Wait. No. Reverse that. But I can feel your own ill-temper. Yeah. Brrrrrr. Go ahead. Strike me down with your hatred. Or your mild disdain. Indifference is also effective. You could prob-ab-ly get to me before you went over too."

He winks at Mini-Me. Oh, how he loves his clone! But he can't get distracted now. Not when he feels like this is the moment he has been waiting for all his evil life.

"No. I lied. We'd all go over. I'd take you with me. Yeah. Maybe I will. You should prepare to die, because I am tired of talking. Didn't do my pre-show warm-up. Here, talk to the fist."

With that he raises a suddenly gloved fist and flexes, shaking it menacingly at them while he twists his mouth around to stretch out his cheeks. Turns out monologuing is hard work.

"Let's see. What's left. Oh, yes. You'll pay for declining my perfectly reasonable offer of death and/or employment, which was my motive all along! Maybe not today, but eventual-ly. Yeah. Maybe like... tomorrow, after we've all had a nap. We'll meet again then. Mini-Me, be a good clone and pencil it in my Day Planner. Oh, and also an evil hot yoga class. Or just hot yoga. They are one and the same, really." He pins the Bros with a Hard Look. "In the immortal words of Bruno Mars, Uptown funk YOU up. Also downtown. Because we are underneath the bar. Yeah."

He begins to inch out on the ledge.

"Anyway, in conclusion, to sum up, you suck. You really suuuuuuuuu...."

Doctor Evil's foot slipped in wet chocolate and he fell before he could finish insulting them one last time. Seconds later, a flood of chocolate explodes into the borehole, flushed away to Landlord knows where.

And he's gone.

Edited 2016-04-21 01:02 (UTC)

COMMENT 33

DOCTOR EVIL stands amid the CHOCOLATE. He teeters at the edge of a LEDGE, flailing, yet seemingly immune to the PERIL in which he now finds himself. He MONOLOGUES at length.

Away from the LEDGE, the TRACKSUIT DRACULAS wait and listen. Normally they are men of ACTION, but the TROPE requires their attentiveness.

One of the TRACKSUITS, a low-level thug in BROWN VELOUR, fiddles impatiently with one of his GOLD RINGS.

Somewhere, in the distance, GIRL FROM IPANEMA is playing faintly.

DOCTOR EVIL continues to talk. Until he doesn't. He SCREAMS, chocolate FLOWS, and he is GONE.

It is a good thing that IVAN also owns a DRY CLEANERS because it will be difficult to get the CHOCOLATE out of all this BROWN VELOUR.

The TRACKSUITS look at each other in confusion. Where did DOCTOR EVIL go? How will they get out of here, BRO? Will SANTO lock them in the cells? Is there any more VODKA?

There are a minuscule number of things capable of dislodging the mighty-mini jaws of The Little Guy when he decides to take an interest in something.

Unfortunately, watching his beloved Doctor go over the edge of a cliff just so happens to be one of those exceedingly limited number of things.

One second he's watching the ensuing monologue with rapt attention, knowing that his Doctor will stick the landing due entirely to how many times the man practiced in front of the bathroom mirror.

The next...Doctor Evil is slipping out of sight, with only the sound of a soldier being bitten dragged under the waters of a swamp by an opportunistic alligator following in his wake.

The Little Guy's eyes widen his shock.
His steel-trap-esque jaws go slack resulting in his multiple rows of razor sharp teeth to rend and tear at the velour pants of the man he'd been recently gnawing on.
Ultimately he falls to the ground in a small child sized heap.

"........oompa."

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