Dungeons and Dragons (1/3): The Sexorcist
Blake and Sharpe's Apartment, Earlier this week.
"Sit down, sit down!" Sharpe said quickly. Chuck entered the room, and tried very hard not to throw up, as Mayo, Rigger and Reardon entered after him. On the floor, were several opened porn magazines, dirty tissues and what looked to be a body pillow. Mayo picked up a Playboy issue from off the floor, and flicked through it casually, eyebrow raised.
"I see you've made yourself at home," Chuck said uncertainly, as he took a hand wipe out of his pocket, and mopped down his plastic chair.
"No, no, that's all Blake's stuff. Kept it exactly as he left it. Aside from the ladies that is." Sharpe gestured to the plush cushion Reardon was currently perched upon; a particularly plump pillow, identifiable as Power Girl.
Chuck and Rigger exchanged worried glances, before turning to face the laptop. "Why'd you bring us out here Chancer?"
"Yeah, if you were going to murder us, surely you've had ample time to do so," Reardon nodded.
"This!" Chancer grinned, as he opened up a new window on his laptop. "A while ago, Blake and Zodiac propositioned me-"
Chuck and Rigger both tried their best to look surprised.
"Not like- For a music video. Suppose they wanted my youthful know-how, because I'm under 40."
"I'm under 40," Rigger muttered, defeated.
"Yesterday," Sharpe continued, "I finished it," he said proudly, now typing something into YouTube. "He didn't leave me with much, and I had to work with what I had, but... What do you think?"
"I think, we should be searching for Blake," Chuck mumbled under his breath, as he noticed the thumbnail, and recognition dawned on him. "Oh god."
"Yeah, but, I mean- Shut up and watch," Chancer shrugged, as he pressed play, and the rest of the Misfits looked on aghast as an image of looked to be Blake, Zodiac Master and Planet Master in even tighter leotards filled the screen.
"Like I said, I was working with really old footage," Sharpe sighed.
Zodiac was first up, as he mugged the camera, and grinned feverishly:
"You can call me Zodiac Master
I'm something of a finger blaster
Look at my penis, it's an odd shade of blue,
It's a medical condition, but I'm here to woo!"
"Woo!" Blake chimed in.
"Human Magnet is kinda a prick, (Woo!)
From what I hear, he's a tiny dick (Woo!)
You can ditch him, if you like, (Woo!)
And if you don't, well, you might be a dyke!"
"Charming," Reardon muttered.
On the screen, all three were now singing, and making uncomfortable gestures with the instruments.
"(Woo!) God bless the pussy patrol.
(Woo!) God bless the pussy patrol
(Woo!) God bless the pussy patrol
God bless me, and the pussy patrol."
"Well, at least they've got a chorus?" Rigger said, somewhat optimistically, which faded as soon as Planet Master took his shirt off, and placed it atop his helmet like a hat.
"Woo! You can call me Norbet- Irving
How about another serving?
I love planets, my favourite's famous.
Let me just say it, I love Uranus."
"Innuendo, innuendo f-word
Innuendo innuendo f-word
Innuendo innuendo f-word"
"Call up the pussy patrol"
"Innuendo, innuendo f-word
Innuendo innuendo f-word
Innuendo innuendo f-word"
"That's why we're the pussy patrol!"
"Call me TB, cause I'm diseased
But that's just a metaphor, I aim to please
I'd drop the N-word, if I had the pass
But Rigga said no, and I've far too much class."
Chuck sighed. "That's enough."
Mayo looked up. "That was it?"
Chuck rubbed his eyes. "Well, he repeats "God bless the pussy patrol" about ten more times, and does a six minute air guitar solo, but yeah. Pretty much"
Chancer paused the video and turns to the group expectantly. "Pretty cool right?"
Reardon bows his head shamefully. "I wish I were deaf too," he muttered, defeated. "This was before the cat demon, right?"
"Yeah?"
...
"Then, remind me. Why do we want to save him?"
~
Slabside Penitentiary. Now.
As Bruce entered the prison, he passed a pair of guards being carried away on gurneys. On the ground, two paramedics were performing CPR on another officer. As he wandered down the hallway, he came to a stop at Dent's cell, and nodded, before continuing on his way.
"Batman," a deep voice snarled. In the adjacent cell, a man, nearly seven foot tall, was pacing around his room. Resting on his bed, a small, stuffed bear. Osito.
"I hear Kuttler made an appeal. Claiming that he was "strongarmed," into joining our crusade. Threatened, by us. Said that he was... instrumental in defusing our weapon. Coward... You will find I am no such fool. I am proud of what we accomplished."
Bruce turned to face him, and scowled. "Bane."
"You know, Batman, imprisoning me was the worst thing you could've done. I was forged in Peña Duro. These inmates will bend to my will just as they did, and when I'm free, I will break you," Bane smiled.
"I'm not here to see you," Bruce remarked, as he continued walking.
~
Butchinsky's
As Chuck, Reardon and Rigger enter the bar, a short, red and black suited man walks past them, his head held down. As he turns around, his eyes flash in recognition for a second, before shaking his head, and walking off into the toilets.
"Ant Man?" Chuck calls out after him, but he gets no reply. He shrugs, and continues into the main bar.
"Corner booth," Fiasco nods, as he gestures to the hooded figure now slurping from a wine glass. "He's been waiting for you."
"Hellhound, I presume?" Chuck asks, as he slides into the booth beside him. The man nods.
"There are few things the colour of red wine. This, is not red wine," he whispers hoarsely, as he took another sip.
"Creepy..." Rigger mused.
"It's Ribena," the man smiles, as he rests the glass to one side.
"Oh."
"Yeah," Hellhound nodded, clearly amused. "I emptied a carton in there before you arrived. Brought it from home."
"Yes, thank you for the income," Fiasco spat.
"Electro's shrinking furniture again," Rigger noted, as he pointed at a blue skinned man in the far corner, currently firing a ray gun at a barstool. Fiasco nodded, then cocked his shotgun.
"It's for my Dollhou- I mean, my plans of world domination!" Electro cackled mischievously, as he took the wooden stool, and ran out the door.
"Oh wow, you don't hear many good evil laughs these days," Hellhound mused, as he took another swig of Ribena.
"Honestly, I felt it was a little tacked on," Rigger shrugged. "Where's Sharpe anyway?" he asked the assembly. "Thought he was looking forward to this."
"He was." Reardon paused. "He said he had a... meeting with his grandfather. Which suits me fine- I don't want to spend another second around those rubber dolls."
"Body Pillows," Rigger corrected him.
...
"I just think we should make a distinction."
~
Gotham Waterworks. Headquarters of the Injustice Society
"This, gentlemen, is my nephew," their leader, a short, round man drawled, a gloved hand placed on Sharpe's shoulder
"Grandson-" Chancer began, as he looked at the assembly awkwardly. One of them, a hooded, reptilian figure hadn't taken it's eyes off of him since he'd arrived. Nor, by Sharpe's estimation, had it blinked.
"Let's not say the G-word, Montgomery, you'll make me look old," Gambler chuckled, as his grip tightened.
Chancer frowned. "You are old. You named me Montgomery," before turning back to the hooded creature, as though he were worried that it might strike at any moment.
Beneath it's hood, red reptilian eyes gleamed. And then it spoke, it's voice a calm, raspy and yet somewhat elegant sound.
"Tell me Montgomery, do you like muffins?" it asked, arms crossed.
Chancer paused. "I- Yeah, sure."
With the snap of his finger, a red robed figure appeared, and lay a still hot tray down in front of them. "Happy homecoming," the Dragon King rasped. "They're chocolate chip."
~
The Batcave
"Welcome home, Master Bruce, I trust last night's investigation proved fruitful?" Alfred asked, as Bruce stepped out of the Batwing, and marched over to the Batcomputer.
"In a sense. Prep the batcycle, I'm going out on patrol," he muttered.
"Shall I fetch Master Damian?" Alfred queried, as he rested a platter of sandwiches by his side.
Bruce shook his head. "No. No, I can do this alone."
"As you keep insisting. But, I must at least ask you to consider an early night in. After a long journey-"
"After a long journey, who knows what trouble's sprung up in my absence," Bruce replied, as he filed a report onto the computer.
"You know, it's not your fault. What happened to Mr Walker, while tragic, is-"
Bruce raised a tired hand. "Alfred... Please. Just give me an update on Gotham's most wanted."
"At once sir," Alfred replied, as he brought up a series of police reports onto the screen. "Here's something new, Reuben Pharmaceuticals was just robbed. Witnesses say that the door was ripped off it's hinges; guards were incapacitated by a flash of white light, and when the air cleared, the thief, and the chemicals were gone."
"What did they steal?" Bruce grimaced, as he lowered his cowl.
"One moment... Ten drums of... That can't be right. Rohypnol."
Bruce rose to his feet suddenly, and scowled. "Alfred, warn Selina. Karl Kyle's back in Gotham."
~
Butchinsky's
Chuck turned back to Hellhound. "We were told by a... friend of ours, that you're something of an expert in the occult."
"You could say that," Hellhound nodded.
"Well, recently, another friend of ours, was infected. By a sex demon."
Hellhound raised an eyebrow. "The Incubus..."
"It calls itself the King of Cats, we've had a few run-ins with it before, but..."
"But it's an immortal sex demon," Rigger interjected.
Chuck nodded. "Can you help us?"
Hellhound scratched his forehead, licked his lips and rose to his feet. "Of course I can," he said, as he placed his hand on the doorknob. "Oh," he paused. "Who did you say recommended me?"
Reardon frowned; Rigger looked at Chuck hesitantly.
"Paul Dekker."
Hellhound chuckled. "Paul Dekker... Good man, great kisser. Come on, gents, let's get this sexorcism started."
Dungeons and Dragons (1/3): The Sexorcist
Blake and Sharpe's Apartment, Earlier this week.
"Sit down, sit down!" Sharpe said quickly. Chuck entered the room, and tried very hard not to throw up, as Mayo, Rigger and Reardon entered after him. On the floor, were several opened porn magazines, dirty tissues and what looked to be a body pillow. Mayo picked up a Playboy issue from off the floor, and flicked through it casually, eyebrow raised.
"I see you've made yourself at home," Chuck said uncertainly, as he took a hand wipe out of his pocket, and mopped down his plastic chair.
"No, no, that's all Blake's stuff. Kept it exactly as he left it. Aside from the ladies that is." Sharpe gestured to the plush cushion Reardon was currently perched upon; a particularly plump pillow, identifiable as Power Girl.
Chuck and Rigger exchanged worried glances, before turning to face the laptop. "Why'd you bring us out here Chancer?"
"Yeah, if you were going to murder us, surely you've had ample time to do so," Reardon nodded.
"This!" Chancer grinned, as he opened up a new window on his laptop. "A while ago, Blake and Zodiac propositioned me-"
Chuck and Rigger both tried their best to look surprised.
"Not like- For a music video. Suppose they wanted my youthful know-how, because I'm under 40."
"I'm under 40," Rigger muttered, defeated.
"Yesterday," Sharpe continued, "I finished it," he said proudly, now typing something into YouTube. "He didn't leave me with much, and I had to work with what I had, but... What do you think?"
"I think, we should be searching for Blake," Chuck mumbled under his breath, as he noticed the thumbnail, and recognition dawned on him. "Oh god."
"Yeah, but, I mean- Shut up and watch," Chancer shrugged, as he pressed play, and the rest of the Misfits looked on aghast as an image of looked to be Blake, Zodiac Master and Planet Master in even tighter leotards filled the screen.
"Like I said, I was working with really old footage," Sharpe sighed.
Zodiac was first up, as he mugged the camera, and grinned feverishly:
"You can call me Zodiac Master
I'm something of a finger blaster
Look at my penis, it's an odd shade of blue,
It's a medical condition, but I'm here to woo!"
"Woo!" Blake chimed in.
"Human Magnet is kinda a prick, (Woo!)
From what I hear, he's a tiny dick (Woo!)
You can ditch him, if you like, (Woo!)
And if you don't, well, you might be a dyke!"
"Charming," Reardon muttered.
On the screen, all three were now singing, and making uncomfortable gestures with the instruments.
"(Woo!) God bless the pussy patrol.
(Woo!) God bless the pussy patrol
(Woo!) God bless the pussy patrol
God bless me, and the pussy patrol."
"Well, at least they've got a chorus?" Rigger said, somewhat optimistically, which faded as soon as Planet Master took his shirt off, and placed it atop his helmet like a hat.
"Woo! You can call me Norbet- Irving
How about another serving?
I love planets, my favourite's famous.
Let me just say it, I love Uranus."
"Innuendo, innuendo f-word
Innuendo innuendo f-word
Innuendo innuendo f-word"
"Call up the pussy patrol"
"Innuendo, innuendo f-word
Innuendo innuendo f-word
Innuendo innuendo f-word"
"That's why we're the pussy patrol!"
"Call me TB, cause I'm diseased
But that's just a metaphor, I aim to please
I'd drop the N-word, if I had the pass
But Rigga said no, and I've far too much class."
Chuck sighed. "That's enough."
Mayo looked up. "That was it?"
Chuck rubbed his eyes. "Well, he repeats "God bless the pussy patrol" about ten more times, and does a six minute air guitar solo, but yeah. Pretty much"
Chancer paused the video and turns to the group expectantly. "Pretty cool right?"
Reardon bows his head shamefully. "I wish I were deaf too," he muttered, defeated. "This was before the cat demon, right?"
"Yeah?"
...
"Then, remind me. Why do we want to save him?"
~
Slabside Penitentiary. Now.
As Bruce entered the prison, he passed a pair of guards being carried away on gurneys. On the ground, two paramedics were performing CPR on another officer. As he wandered down the hallway, he came to a stop at Dent's cell, and nodded, before continuing on his way.
"Batman," a deep voice snarled. In the adjacent cell, a man, nearly seven foot tall, was pacing around his room. Resting on his bed, a small, stuffed bear. Osito.
"I hear Kuttler made an appeal. Claiming that he was "strongarmed," into joining our crusade. Threatened, by us. Said that he was... instrumental in defusing our weapon. Coward... You will find I am no such fool. I am proud of what we accomplished."
Bruce turned to face him, and scowled. "Bane."
"You know, Batman, imprisoning me was the worst thing you could've done. I was forged in Peña Duro. These inmates will bend to my will just as they did, and when I'm free, I will break you," Bane smiled.
"I'm not here to see you," Bruce remarked, as he continued walking.
~
Butchinsky's
As Chuck, Reardon and Rigger enter the bar, a short, red and black suited man walks past them, his head held down. As he turns around, his eyes flash in recognition for a second, before shaking his head, and walking off into the toilets.
"Ant Man?" Chuck calls out after him, but he gets no reply. He shrugs, and continues into the main bar.
"Corner booth," Fiasco nods, as he gestures to the hooded figure now slurping from a wine glass. "He's been waiting for you."
"Hellhound, I presume?" Chuck asks, as he slides into the booth beside him. The man nods.
"There are few things the colour of red wine. This, is not red wine," he whispers hoarsely, as he took another sip.
"Creepy..." Rigger mused.
"It's Ribena," the man smiles, as he rests the glass to one side.
"Oh."
"Yeah," Hellhound nodded, clearly amused. "I emptied a carton in there before you arrived. Brought it from home."
"Yes, thank you for the income," Fiasco spat.
"Electro's shrinking furniture again," Rigger noted, as he pointed at a blue skinned man in the far corner, currently firing a ray gun at a barstool. Fiasco nodded, then cocked his shotgun.
"It's for my Dollhou- I mean, my plans of world domination!" Electro cackled mischievously, as he took the wooden stool, and ran out the door.
"Oh wow, you don't hear many good evil laughs these days," Hellhound mused, as he took another swig of Ribena.
"Honestly, I felt it was a little tacked on," Rigger shrugged. "Where's Sharpe anyway?" he asked the assembly. "Thought he was looking forward to this."
"He was." Reardon paused. "He said he had a... meeting with his grandfather. Which suits me fine- I don't want to spend another second around those rubber dolls."
"Body Pillows," Rigger corrected him.
...
"I just think we should make a distinction."
~
Gotham Waterworks. Headquarters of the Injustice Society
"This, gentlemen, is my nephew," their leader, a short, round man drawled, a gloved hand placed on Sharpe's shoulder
"Grandson-" Chancer began, as he looked at the assembly awkwardly. One of them, a hooded, reptilian figure hadn't taken it's eyes off of him since he'd arrived. Nor, by Sharpe's estimation, had it blinked.
"Let's not say the G-word, Montgomery, you'll make me look old," Gambler chuckled, as his grip tightened.
Chancer frowned. "You are old. You named me Montgomery," before turning back to the hooded creature, as though he were worried that it might strike at any moment.
Beneath it's hood, red reptilian eyes gleamed. And then it spoke, it's voice a calm, raspy and yet somewhat elegant sound.
"Tell me Montgomery, do you like muffins?" it asked, arms crossed.
Chancer paused. "I- Yeah, sure."
With the snap of his finger, a red robed figure appeared, and lay a still hot tray down in front of them. "Happy homecoming," the Dragon King rasped. "They're chocolate chip."
~
The Batcave
"Welcome home, Master Bruce, I trust last night's investigation proved fruitful?" Alfred asked, as Bruce stepped out of the Batwing, and marched over to the Batcomputer.
"In a sense. Prep the batcycle, I'm going out on patrol," he muttered.
"Shall I fetch Master Damian?" Alfred queried, as he rested a platter of sandwiches by his side.
Bruce shook his head. "No. No, I can do this alone."
"As you keep insisting. But, I must at least ask you to consider an early night in. After a long journey-"
"After a long journey, who knows what trouble's sprung up in my absence," Bruce replied, as he filed a report onto the computer.
"You know, it's not your fault. What happened to Mr Walker, while tragic, is-"
Bruce raised a tired hand. "Alfred... Please. Just give me an update on Gotham's most wanted."
"At once sir," Alfred replied, as he brought up a series of police reports onto the screen. "Here's something new, Reuben Pharmaceuticals was just robbed. Witnesses say that the door was ripped off it's hinges; guards were incapacitated by a flash of white light, and when the air cleared, the thief, and the chemicals were gone."
"What did they steal?" Bruce grimaced, as he lowered his cowl.
"One moment... Ten drums of... That can't be right. Rohypnol."
Bruce rose to his feet suddenly, and scowled. "Alfred, warn Selina. Karl Kyle's back in Gotham."
~
Butchinsky's
Chuck turned back to Hellhound. "We were told by a... friend of ours, that you're something of an expert in the occult."
"You could say that," Hellhound nodded.
"Well, recently, another friend of ours, was infected. By a sex demon."
Hellhound raised an eyebrow. "The Incubus..."
"It calls itself the King of Cats, we've had a few run-ins with it before, but..."
"But it's an immortal sex demon," Rigger interjected.
Chuck nodded. "Can you help us?"
Hellhound scratched his forehead, licked his lips and rose to his feet. "Of course I can," he said, as he placed his hand on the doorknob. "Oh," he paused. "Who did you say recommended me?"
Reardon frowned; Rigger looked at Chuck hesitantly.
"Paul Dekker."
Hellhound chuckled. "Paul Dekker... Good man, great kisser. Come on, gents, let's get this sexorcism started."