Meeting Muppets
Dec. 27th, 2011 09:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fakeasain56Part 2 of the Meeting Muppet's verse! Find part one here. Enjoy!
Right now however, he was beginning to wonder if there was perhaps fate, trying to tell him that he was going to be stuck among weirdoes for the rest of his life.
This particular weirdo was busy giggling manically over the boxes of explosives stacked up in the warehouse, murmuring quickly under his breath, counting the boxes carefully. At times he would turn to look at his diagram, before looking back to the boxes.
“Sir? Are you certain this is the guy?” Someone hissed softly at his elbow. He shot them a bored, languid look.
It didn’t really matter who the person was, so long as he got paid the correct amount. Still- He padded forward, lightly and soundlessly as the diminutive man dropped the diagram onto the floor and started scrambling up the crates. “Ahem.”
The man made some kind of noise, and Moran stared at him for a moment longer. “Money please?”
The man pointed to a suitcase sitting off to the side. “In there! Lots of booms- ehhehehehe~”
Moran glowered at the person for a long moment, before gesturing to one of his men sharply. They quickly opened the suitcase- it was filled to the brim with money. American bills yes, but enough and more then what they asked for.
Man smirked as he stepped towards it. They would leave the man with his explosives, and claim no knowledge when a public building was blown up. Slightly curiously, he glanced down at the plans, wondering what school was going to vanish this time.
What he got instead was a highly detailed, carefully marked diagram on how to blow up Stonehenge to rearrange in the face of the current buyer.
Moran stopped. Stared. Thought. “The deal is off.”
The man’s face swiveled towards him, crazed grin not even flickering. “No deal for Crazy Harry?”
“None.”
He may not be the worlds greatest citizen, but he was not going to allow a bloody Yank waltz in, bomb Stonehenge to look like his face, and waltz right back out!
Crazy Harry giggled in response. Moran took a step back, some inner sense telling him to run. The madman pulled up a remote- a remote to the explosions. Moran patted his pocket, looking madly for that remote. It wasn’t there.
He took off running, abandoning minions to their fate. The crazed, cackling laugh reached its highpoint, and the colossal boom echoed behind him. He turned, in curiosity, wondering what had become of his men.
They staggered out of the rubble, covered in soot, and completely black from head to toe. Moran stared at them for a few moments, stuck both hands in his pockets, and gave the day up as a rather bad day.
Still, he could at the very least salvage the money.
He took a step forward, when Crazy Harry’s chuckling filled the air, and he took a step back. The man had been sitting on the explosives. He should not have survived; and even if he had survived, then he should not be emerging from the rubble like a phoenix. A crazed, explosive loving, definitely off his rocker phoenix, but on fire nonetheless.
Moran chucked in the day as being a bad day, and slunk home to where Moriaty could soothe his woes with an order to kill someone.
~_~_~_
Jim Moriaty had been having a very good day when he found a weird blue thing strung upside down in a tree, with a weight hanging off its hook shaped nose. He was about to go by whatever ghastly piñata the local children had made, when the creature spoke.
“Hello.”
He stopped, turned around to stare.
“Mind giving a fellow a hand here? I’m afraid I’m a bit tied up at the moment.” The creature wiggled in the ropes as if to prove a point.
Moriaty’s eyes swept the ropes, frown growing. “How did you end up like this?” He made no move to help the creature out.
“Oh, I was practicing a cool act that I thought would be fun! I was originally going to have a pit filled with fire beneath me, but I was told that was against the law.” One eyelid rose at the man, as the creature paused for dramatic effect. “By the way- my name is Gonzo. Gonzo the Great!”
“Gonzo.” Jim tasted the word, holding it close in his mouth as he finally stepped closer to the creature. “What are you?”
“Oh, I’m a Whatever.” Gonzo shrugged, and laughed as the contraption swung from side to side in the breeze.
“I see.” Jim bent to pick up what looked like a discarded weight. Stepping forward, he hung it on the creatures nose, waiting eagerly to hear what a scream of pain from it would sound like.
Instead, he got a joyful laugh.
“That feels great! Thanks for the help! Now then, I, the Great Gonzo, will practice my daring Houdini escape!”
Gonzo began to swing back and forth, and only then did Jim spot the knives buried pointy-end up in a circle around the creature.
He went and fetched popcorn.
~_~_~_
Mycroft pressed his hands together as he stared at the… creature across from him. The creature stared back. The spatula in one hand was dripping with some kind of unknown substance.
He turned a little pale at the sight, and cleared his throat authoritatively.
The creature's mouth opened beneath the thick mustache. “Yeuuusss?”
The… foreign language this creature was speaking sounded like nothing Mycroft had ever heard before, and he had traveled across the world many, many times.
“Excuse me Chef, but what is this?” Mycroft poked at the slimy gray thing on his plate.
“Un ooctupoos tentecle-a!” The chef made a motion, and the substance on the spatula went flying to whap a passing man in the back of the head.
Mycroft watched in sick fascination as the substance moved, baring teeth at the Chef. The Chef either didn’t notice or didn’t care as he tugged at the thick mustache, making some kind of garbled noise.
“I see.” His eyes slid over to the man who had invited him to this dinner in the first place. The man was quite happily tucking into his gray thing, humming like it was some kind of delicacy.
Mycroft poked the thing on his plate and decided there was no possible way it could possibly be delicious.
A passing dog caught his eye, and he snuck a look at the Chef, who had, somewhere in the time, once again moved back behind the counter, to where a large pot was boiling. What looked like an octopus tentacle was slowly rising from out of the pot, coiling around the Chef's neck. The chef futilely waved the spatula at it, attempting to beat it off. The pot bubbled ominously, and Mycroft took advantage of everyone's distracted attention.
He dropped the gray thing to the floor. The dog took one sniff and promptly went scuttling to the other side of the room. Oh, he was really beginning to regret ever appearing at this event.
His eyes went back to the Chef standing behind the counter. The pot was gone, though steam continued to rise from behind the counter, and a gigantic purple tentacle decorated the counter top prettily. That wasn't really what had caught his attention though.
The Chef was holding a bazooka. Every muscle in Mycroft’s body locked up as the chef hefted it, pointing it at two pumpkins. None of the guards even so much as flinched as the Chef fired it.
There was a booming roar, and a bright flash.
Mycroft blinked a few times, patting himself down, making certain all body parts were attached.
Yep.
His eyes turned towards the Chef, and instead found a countertop with two pumpkin pies, and scattered pieces of what once was pumpkin shell. He stared at it for a moment longer, as the Chef gave the nearest person two thumbs up, before collapsing.
Mycroft stood, ignoring the guard's odd look.
“Something wrong sir?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Mycroft lied through gritted teeth. “I am leaving early.”
With my sanity intact, which is more then what I could say for you.
He was rather relieved when he got news that the so-called chef had gone back to America, murmuring something about a movie.
~_~_~_
Moran and Crazy Harry
Sebastian Moran was never one to believe in fate. If something happened, it was simply coincidence. Certainly, meeting Moriaty had been the luckiest day of his life, but still, a coincidence.Right now however, he was beginning to wonder if there was perhaps fate, trying to tell him that he was going to be stuck among weirdoes for the rest of his life.
This particular weirdo was busy giggling manically over the boxes of explosives stacked up in the warehouse, murmuring quickly under his breath, counting the boxes carefully. At times he would turn to look at his diagram, before looking back to the boxes.
“Sir? Are you certain this is the guy?” Someone hissed softly at his elbow. He shot them a bored, languid look.
It didn’t really matter who the person was, so long as he got paid the correct amount. Still- He padded forward, lightly and soundlessly as the diminutive man dropped the diagram onto the floor and started scrambling up the crates. “Ahem.”
The man made some kind of noise, and Moran stared at him for a moment longer. “Money please?”
The man pointed to a suitcase sitting off to the side. “In there! Lots of booms- ehhehehehe~”
Moran glowered at the person for a long moment, before gesturing to one of his men sharply. They quickly opened the suitcase- it was filled to the brim with money. American bills yes, but enough and more then what they asked for.
Man smirked as he stepped towards it. They would leave the man with his explosives, and claim no knowledge when a public building was blown up. Slightly curiously, he glanced down at the plans, wondering what school was going to vanish this time.
What he got instead was a highly detailed, carefully marked diagram on how to blow up Stonehenge to rearrange in the face of the current buyer.
Moran stopped. Stared. Thought. “The deal is off.”
The man’s face swiveled towards him, crazed grin not even flickering. “No deal for Crazy Harry?”
“None.”
He may not be the worlds greatest citizen, but he was not going to allow a bloody Yank waltz in, bomb Stonehenge to look like his face, and waltz right back out!
Crazy Harry giggled in response. Moran took a step back, some inner sense telling him to run. The madman pulled up a remote- a remote to the explosions. Moran patted his pocket, looking madly for that remote. It wasn’t there.
He took off running, abandoning minions to their fate. The crazed, cackling laugh reached its highpoint, and the colossal boom echoed behind him. He turned, in curiosity, wondering what had become of his men.
They staggered out of the rubble, covered in soot, and completely black from head to toe. Moran stared at them for a few moments, stuck both hands in his pockets, and gave the day up as a rather bad day.
Still, he could at the very least salvage the money.
He took a step forward, when Crazy Harry’s chuckling filled the air, and he took a step back. The man had been sitting on the explosives. He should not have survived; and even if he had survived, then he should not be emerging from the rubble like a phoenix. A crazed, explosive loving, definitely off his rocker phoenix, but on fire nonetheless.
Moran chucked in the day as being a bad day, and slunk home to where Moriaty could soothe his woes with an order to kill someone.
~_~_~_
Moriaty and Gonzo
Jim Moriaty had been having a very good day when he found a weird blue thing strung upside down in a tree, with a weight hanging off its hook shaped nose. He was about to go by whatever ghastly piñata the local children had made, when the creature spoke.
“Hello.”
He stopped, turned around to stare.
“Mind giving a fellow a hand here? I’m afraid I’m a bit tied up at the moment.” The creature wiggled in the ropes as if to prove a point.
Moriaty’s eyes swept the ropes, frown growing. “How did you end up like this?” He made no move to help the creature out.
“Oh, I was practicing a cool act that I thought would be fun! I was originally going to have a pit filled with fire beneath me, but I was told that was against the law.” One eyelid rose at the man, as the creature paused for dramatic effect. “By the way- my name is Gonzo. Gonzo the Great!”
“Gonzo.” Jim tasted the word, holding it close in his mouth as he finally stepped closer to the creature. “What are you?”
“Oh, I’m a Whatever.” Gonzo shrugged, and laughed as the contraption swung from side to side in the breeze.
“I see.” Jim bent to pick up what looked like a discarded weight. Stepping forward, he hung it on the creatures nose, waiting eagerly to hear what a scream of pain from it would sound like.
Instead, he got a joyful laugh.
“That feels great! Thanks for the help! Now then, I, the Great Gonzo, will practice my daring Houdini escape!”
Gonzo began to swing back and forth, and only then did Jim spot the knives buried pointy-end up in a circle around the creature.
He went and fetched popcorn.
~_~_~_
Mycroft and The Swedish Chef
Mycroft pressed his hands together as he stared at the… creature across from him. The creature stared back. The spatula in one hand was dripping with some kind of unknown substance.
He turned a little pale at the sight, and cleared his throat authoritatively.
The creature's mouth opened beneath the thick mustache. “Yeuuusss?”
The… foreign language this creature was speaking sounded like nothing Mycroft had ever heard before, and he had traveled across the world many, many times.
“Excuse me Chef, but what is this?” Mycroft poked at the slimy gray thing on his plate.
“Un ooctupoos tentecle-a!” The chef made a motion, and the substance on the spatula went flying to whap a passing man in the back of the head.
Mycroft watched in sick fascination as the substance moved, baring teeth at the Chef. The Chef either didn’t notice or didn’t care as he tugged at the thick mustache, making some kind of garbled noise.
“I see.” His eyes slid over to the man who had invited him to this dinner in the first place. The man was quite happily tucking into his gray thing, humming like it was some kind of delicacy.
Mycroft poked the thing on his plate and decided there was no possible way it could possibly be delicious.
A passing dog caught his eye, and he snuck a look at the Chef, who had, somewhere in the time, once again moved back behind the counter, to where a large pot was boiling. What looked like an octopus tentacle was slowly rising from out of the pot, coiling around the Chef's neck. The chef futilely waved the spatula at it, attempting to beat it off. The pot bubbled ominously, and Mycroft took advantage of everyone's distracted attention.
He dropped the gray thing to the floor. The dog took one sniff and promptly went scuttling to the other side of the room. Oh, he was really beginning to regret ever appearing at this event.
His eyes went back to the Chef standing behind the counter. The pot was gone, though steam continued to rise from behind the counter, and a gigantic purple tentacle decorated the counter top prettily. That wasn't really what had caught his attention though.
The Chef was holding a bazooka. Every muscle in Mycroft’s body locked up as the chef hefted it, pointing it at two pumpkins. None of the guards even so much as flinched as the Chef fired it.
There was a booming roar, and a bright flash.
Mycroft blinked a few times, patting himself down, making certain all body parts were attached.
Yep.
His eyes turned towards the Chef, and instead found a countertop with two pumpkin pies, and scattered pieces of what once was pumpkin shell. He stared at it for a moment longer, as the Chef gave the nearest person two thumbs up, before collapsing.
Mycroft stood, ignoring the guard's odd look.
“Something wrong sir?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Mycroft lied through gritted teeth. “I am leaving early.”
With my sanity intact, which is more then what I could say for you.
He was rather relieved when he got news that the so-called chef had gone back to America, murmuring something about a movie.
~_~_~_
