#like 2 of my favorite animals but also a play on the word crowbar

[sk3l3t0n444]

i wanna change my theme and my url a bit

[scattered-winter]

welcome to my first music meta post!! I’m going to basically nerd out about the soundtrack from Batman: Under the Red Hood for the next little bit :)

first of all, Christopher Drake absolutely KILLED it on this movie! The entire score is the perfect mix of electronic, strings, and low brass that just paints a perfect picture of Gotham. He understood the assignment!!!

(I’m gonna add a cutoff because I foresee this post getting pretty long lol)

But what I really want to talk about here is Track 01 A Death in the Family (where the Joker kills Jason.) It sets the mood for the rest of the movie, and the soundtrack is a huge part of that! One of my favorite parts of this score is the strings from 0:15 to 0:38. This little melody forms the undertone of most of the entire soundtrack, and I like to think of it as the overall theme of the movie (it’s in the opening sequence as well, which just solidifies my thinking). Right after, at 0:39, it cuts off and starts a soft drumbeat that just keeps driving it on, with some softer woodwinds and strings in the background, and then it hits you in the face at 0:48. The thing I like about 0:48 to 0:54 is how you can almost see the crowbar swinging in time with the drums. It isn’t synced in the scene, but it does add a really cool effect that makes it so you can tell what’s happening just by listening to the score. Then there’s the undertone of low strings again at 0:55 (I just really love it ok), which continues until about 1:04, where everything suddenly cuts off and there’s just this Very Unsettling vibe. I can’t really tell what instruments are playing here, but it’s giving off the perfect amount of Oh Shit vibes that are honestly the best way to tell that the Joker is in a scene. The Freaky Sounds continue until about 1:20, then it changes to a very soft, eerie whine (that’s the best word I have for it tbh). Really this whole section (1:04-1:49) triggers my fight-or-flight response. You can almost Feel the fear and discomfort just seeping out of the music. Then at 1:50, the low strings are back, but this time they’re much more prominent than before. And then, we get to one of my total favorite parts!! 2:14, with the electronic thrumming while the low strings continue in the background! This is the part when Jason spits at the Joker and then grins at him, with the blood running down his face. It’s such a chilling scene already, but the intense yet soft score just cranks it up to 250%. (I should also mention the Creepy Sounds returning for a brief moment at 2:21, which seems to be the Joker’s motif throughout the movie). Then at 2:26 it just ramps up as the Joker continues to beat Jason, but then cuts off at 2:33 when the scene cuts to Ra’s Al Ghul as he realizes that Batman won’t make it in time. The soft strings are back again, but this time they’re playing a slightly different melody. I really love the melody here. It’s similar to what we’ve heard before, but the notes move different directions than we expect, and it makes the piece more interesting. It also (to me at least) conveys more desperation and sadness than the other melody does. Then at 2:42 it picks up in tempo and volume, and the drums are back! To me, this part just bleeds desperation. Batman’s racing to save Jason from the Joker, and it’s so intense and just desperate. This more intense section lasts until about 3:01, where it cuts back to the Joker’s creepy scraping sounds. Just like before, the other instruments fade out until it’s just the eerie sound. There’s some drums in the background, but the eerie music is at the forefront. I really loved how the Joker was portrayed, both in the score and his voice acting. He’s already pretty much the creature of my nightmares, but his motif alone could be in a horror movie or something. The Joker’s theme continues until 3:12, where my Absolute Favorite Part of the score is!! (I’ve already said that like 3 times but just bear with me ok I love the whole thing). The drums kick in, a little louder than before, and at 3:23, the electronic thrumming is back, rising in volume and pitch with the drums. The original melody with the low strings returns as the undertone, and is moving down as the rest of the pitches are moving up. This is as Jason is standing up and trying to get out, and I honestly think that this little section here could be his theme pre-Lazarus Pit. It’s determined, and stubborn, and absolutely refusing to fall. This theme just rises and builds more power, with higher-pitched strings and some low brass joining at 3:41, and it reaches its climax right at 3:59. The drums are louder than ever, and the orchestra is just holding the notes and slowly climbing in pitch, bit by bit. The climax is short; it ends right at about 4:11, as Jason realizes he has no way out. The loud drums and orchestra cuts off, and its just those soft, low strings, and a very gentle thrumming. I really like this part because it still has that intense drive, but it’s softer and less noticeable. Jason hasn’t given up, but he’s resolved to sit and wait for Batman to find him. And then at 4:29, that eerie scraping is back when Jason notices the bomb. It crescendos sharply, building and building until 4:40 when it just.....cuts off. This is probably my favorite part of the animation, where you can SEE the hope and fear and resolve just drain from his face and get replaced by acceptance. There’s another eerie little noise at the very end, and then there’s nothing but silence.

This entire piece has a lot of different emotions in the different sections, but perhaps my favorite thing about Christopher Drake’s composing is that throughout the entire score is this underlying sense of absolute heartbreak. Even during the louder and more intense sections, like where Batman is rushing to save Jason (2:42-3:01), and even when Jason is trying to escape (3:12-4:11), there’s still this feel of absolute despair. We know Jason’s story. We know Batman doesn’t make it there in time, and that it doesn’t matter how much strength and courage Jason mustered at the end. We know how all this ends, but we can’t help but hope anyway. And that’s the precise emotion that the music contains, which is just incredible.

anyway, thanks for letting me ramble!! I actually had a lot of fun with this one, and so if y’all liked reading it, I’ll do another one!! (also if anyone has any specific requests I’m open to suggestions!)

[rosepetals-flyingbirds]

Alluring. (2/?)

With: Detective!Bucky x Witch!Reader.

Word Count: 1,423.

<<

Also, the man mentioned in that chapter isn't Bucky, you can picture whoever you want to.

Mutt/stray/rescued baby’s gif because dogs aren't only the ones with "breed" or "pedigree" as so many ignorants think. All animals are animals despise appearances. So adopt and let's make a world a better place.

Yasmin was always the giggly one, the charismatic. And with the passing of the years, she started to date around, no one knew if she ever placed a spell on the men, or if it was only her charm and beauty.

But when she was 17 she picked her stuff and ran away with the boyfriend of the time.

Years passed and she kept sending a postcard each month to let you aware where she was. And you missed her terribly. 

Your town was charming in its own way but people were too rude.

It made three years since she left. And life kept normal.

You were accompanying your aunts while they bought stuff around town, when a dog ran by you with an apple on his mouth, the street had a taller part so when the dog looked around and placed the apple on the floor so he could catch his breath, someone yelled. "Duke!"

The apple rolled down the street and only stopped on your feet, then the dog sprinted to you and you hadn't time to throw the apple somewhere else before the big baby knocked you down. "Ouch." He completely forgot the fruit as he started to lick your face over and over.

"Y/N!" Aunt Mira and Aunt Bim yelled. "Shu shu boy."

"Ah, okay boy, stop." You begged between laughs, even if the dog was heavy he was still a big baby and just wanted to play.

"Duke! Stop." A man yelled and pulled the dog's collar. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry." Your aunt came and helped you on your feet. "I'm really sorry for him and all of this, bad boy Duke! Bad boy!"

Aunt Bim helped you on your feet, and you used the sleeve of your sweater to dry dog's drool off your face. It was a heavy knock but you couldn't stop smiling at the dog. "It's okay, really."

"No it isn't, I, is just that I hate to use leashes but I put them in him still but I took the chain off for a sec and he saw an apple in one basket on the floor and just started to play fetch. Of course it's more like he's the one playing me but..." You and your aunts kept looking at the man while he rambled and he apologized one last time before leaving.

"It’s okay." You yelled and the man smiled when he looked at you over his shoulder.

The aunts looked at each other before looking at you and the man again. A mischievous idea being shared by them.

                           ...

Watering the plants in her garden Y/N was making sure everything was alright, that all the plants were growing and healthy.

The aunts were sat at the porch playing cards, they looked at Y/N over and over. Anxious for their little push to work.

"What time is it?" Aunt Mira asked. "It is taking too long."

"Calm down, it's almost there."

Then Y/N stopped the watering and looked around searching for something. She felt a pull and started walking out of the yard.

"Isn't that exciting?" The aunts giggled.

Y/N ran and ran until she reached a house that she hasn't seen before, she saw a dog walking around and then the man she saw earlier that week, she stopped running but kept walking on his way, her heart was jumping and then the tall man started to walk with a big smile on his face. 

When they reached each other the man held her face and landed a kiss on her lips.

It was truly magical, how Y/N Y/L/N was kissing a man that she only saw once.

But after that day everything changed.

Six Years Later.

'Dear Yasmin, today we are celebrating our fifth anniversary, and all I can say is that I'm beyond happy.

Life is good, no witchcraft, no strangers calling me names, it's normal. The normalcy I always wanted.

I have a great house, two beautiful children, a 14th years old dog that even if his eyes aren't working as it used to and even if his fur is sprinkled with white, he's still happy. Everything is perfect.'

And it was perfect indeed.

Till you heard the beetle ticking one night.

It kept appearing out of nowhere and you thought it was something of your mind, but when Duke died of oldness you hoped that was it, that your beloved cupid-dog would be the one the beetle came to.

And it hurt, but him dying of oldness was better than losing Paterson.

You cried, Paterson cried, the girls cried.

Duke was a part of the family, he was loved. He had a burial and everyone spoke words to him, the girls placed his favorite toys and pictures of them above the sheet that covered his body.

But... the noise kept happening, and it was quick.

You didn't hear it more than three times.

And one day, when the kids were in school and Paterson left to work, the tick got louder and quicker. You used the hammer and crowbar to open the wooden floor. "No no. You little shit, come here! You won't take him! I will not die of a broken heart!"

You yelled and kept searching for the bug, his noise was loud and you were almost losing your mind. Until, it stopped and you felt a chill run on your body.

On the other side of the town, your loved husband got hit by a truck whose driver lost control of the pedal. Paterson went flying and it was instant death.

You fell on the floor and started to cry, you searched your phone but couldn't find it duo the mess on the house, until it rang.

It was the local hospital, saying what happened, and you cried.

Cried, and cried.

Years and years avoiding love, and now that you were happy... it ended.

It ended because of a stupid curse. 

When the girls arrived from school you tried to act normal, you didn't had the strength to tell them, so you said their father was late and placed the girls to sleep saying it was all okay.

When they fell asleep, you ran to your aunts' house and started to search the grimy book, the aunts were already up because they felt your arrival a mile away.

"Y/N, honey, I'm sorry." Mira said and Bim nodded.

"No, you two will bring him back. And will do it now." You opened the book in the resurrection part and started to point on it. "Now, right now!"

"Honey you know we can't do that." Bim stated carefully.

Mira agreed with her sister. "Yes and besides you know he won't be-"

"I don't care!" You started to cry. "You took him from me and now he's dead. Bring him back please, please." She sobbed.

Bim squeezed your shoulder and looked back at Mira, it broke their hearts seeing you at your knees crying of a broken heart. "If we do, he won't be himself."

Mira continued. "He'll be something evil and morbid, not your Paterson."

"It wasn't supposed to be like that when we placed you two together we didn't expect for marriage." Bim cut her sister and you widened your eyes at both of them. 

"What?! Placing us together?” You tried to understand their meaning, it could only mean one thing. "It was a spell?"

Mira took a deep breath after Bim's revelation, you didn't have to know. "It was just a little push, you were so sad and then after we met him and his dog in the city we wanted you to be happy, but you got married and had the girls and things went out of hand."

"No, no, no." You stood up. "You two? Blood of my blood? It was a spell?"

"The wanting part but the rest was real, we only pushed you two together for a night, the rest was all you."

"Bring him back, please." You fell on your knees again. "Pleaseee." You sobbed, and when both aunts shook their heads again... you knew it was useless.

You cried out and only went home hours later to see your kids.

The worst part was to have to identify the body in the hospital, your beloved, the one that showed you how to live, how to love.

Everything went in a blur, the house seemed empty without him, your daughters were just as sad as you, and you couldn't keep living there. The house was the bank's property now that Paterson was dead.

Like all the generations after Antonia, you went back to the Y/L/N's house.

Arriving there after the funeral with the girls using black dresses, it was too much like you and Yasmin when your mother died.

An irony.

The aunts came to help with the baggage.

As you settle in the house again, you were clear with the rules. "The girls with have hour to sleep, they will brush their teeth at least 2 times per day and will go to school every day. And most important, my kids won't do magic."

                 ...

Next chapter will have Bucky, I swear.

@salimahbicharara-comun, @buckybabybaby​, @velvetwonderbucky

[futchloser-moved]

hewwo i turned the inaugural death of mister seven into one big block of text!!! why??? I DONT FUCKING KNOW but i did!!!

below VV

Your name is CROWBAR. You remember the first time you ever got offed like it was yesterday. But then, you tend to remember damn near everything like it was yesterday. And when a fella whets his bill on time travel as much as you, yesterday's when damn near everything literally took place. But that's beside the point. The POINT is, a guy like you's gotta remember things. No room for error when you're in charge of a bunch of maroons like these. Maroon's your favorite color, in case it wasn't obvious by the rugged hue of your jaunty tricorned HAT. But like you say all the time, lugs this dumb give the color a bad name. Yeah, that line never did get a laugh. Not even ONCE. Never did claim comedy was your bag, though. Your bag's a whole 'nother can of worms entirely. And those worms swear on their ugly mothers' graves that you're a hard-nosed, square-shouldered, spare-the-lip and shoot-from-the-hip gang boss. Or third in command, to be precise. But who's counting? The answer, of course is, you are. YOU'RE counting. It's your JOB to count. As number three of the the outfit (i.e. number seven, lest we get confused) it's ALSO your job to do what Number Two says. (He don't got a number in actuality. Cueball-head wouldn't wear a hat in the damn presence of royalty, the cocky bastard.) Number Two naturally gets his orders from Number One, who's a man of few words in your experience. The top dog used to give you lip all the time, which is really saying something for a man whose head is a gruesome, lipless skull. Those were the old days, though. Now Number Two serves as his mouth. And what a mouth it is. The man's got a hell of a trap for a guy sportin' a spherical head with no features whatsoever. Hey, look. You just follow orders, no matter what kind of freak show comprises the particular cabal of superiors barkin' em at ya. They call Number Two the Doc. And the Doc made it clear he wants you to round up the boys for a meeting in his study. In your humble opinion, the hatless wonder's a true man of mystery. And guessin' his designs is about as fruitless as a  plundered gift basket. But if you had to bet, you'd bet dollars to crullers* there's a heist afoot. *Crullers instead of donuts 'cause when it comes to the Doc's schemes, there's ALWAYS a twist. First step along the way is Number Two. No, not by rank, ya clueless boob. By HAT, of course. This guy's infinitely less clever than the Doc. In fact, it ain't out of line to characterize him as a little slow upstairs. AND downstairs. "Infinitely" in this case ain't hyperbolic. [#2 - DOZE. Doze has the ability to slow down time within radius localized to himself, and himself alone.] You don't DO hyperbole. It's on a list of stuff you don't do. The list is literally kept in your breast pocket to show at clowns who don't take you serious now and then. You tell him to come with you, gotta meet Doc in the study. Oh great. He predictably replies with the arduous low-pitched beginning of some long-ass drawn-out remark. You don't have time for this. You leave the room to round up more men. The end of this sentence ain't seein' the light of day anytime soon. Who's next? Ah, excellent. Someone else is approaching. Saves you the trouble of rootin' them out. Aaand yeah, it's you. Just what you needed. TIME SHENANIGANS. Looks like past-you or future-you or whoever is leading Sawbuck somewhere. You know what? Whatever, man. [#7 - CROWBAR. In charge, mostly. Wields a crowbar.] [#10 - SAWBUCK. Don't worry about it. You'll get to him later.] You're not even going to ask. It NEVER pays to indulge in time shenanigans. That's what you say. No one listens, though. Other-you's got a question, though. You say shoot. He's wondering if Doze in there has finished his sentence yet. You say not even close, my friend. He's only just begun lettin' words spill out of his dumb, sluggish maw. He says God fucking dammit. You say you feel his pain, brother. You and he soldier on in your respective directions. You give the the door a firm rap or two with your trusty crowbar and let yourself into the OH GOOD GOD. You avert your eyes and clear your throat. You try to visualize something else. A suit you need to remember to bring by for tailoring. The lukewarm cup of joe you didn't finish this morning, sitting on your desk. And... nope. The damage is done. You can't unsee it. Listen, you ain't no Puritan Pete! [#4 - CLOVER. Is extremely lucky.] What two consenting adult men get up to behind closed doors is their own damn business. You just wish Clover wouldn't do his frisky little dance numbers behind SO MANY of the closed doors in this mansion. Part of you wonders what charm the little guy was soliciting Itchy with. Horseshoes? Balloons? No wait. You don't care. Train of thought cancelled. (They're all wrong for balloons, anyway. Trust you. It wouldn't work out.) You tell the men to quit the ahem, fancy footwork. There's business with the Doc. Sure boss, after you! squeaks the lucky runt. Luck's always on his side, you should mention. Little bastard's as lucky as one gets, and sure seem he's one to get lucky a lot, if you catch your drift. Itchy, as usual, makes it his business to be a rash on your backside. The attitude on this guy. Says he's in no particular hurry. Will be along as soon as he's done with this... What is that? 10,000 pieces? Come on, guy. You say with the giddyup he's got, that puzzle should take him just shy of no time flat, and he KNOWS it. [#1 - ITCHY. Is extremely fast.] He's real fast, see? Itchy says he ain't in a hurryin' mood. Wants to relax, take his sweeeeeet time with it. Is he kidding you? This jabroni's barely even trying. No. It doesn't go there. NO. You say the horse butt goes BEHIND the animal, not like, hovering in front of its face, you stupid piece of shit. The guy keeps at it anyway. You know what. Let the baby have his bottle. You're out of here.You enter the boutique of the gang's in-house tailor. Any mug in the biz you're in knows a good tailor's a must. The name's Stitch, and the man's a miracle worker with a needle and thread. Looks to be patching up a head wound on some dope's recent injury. You say what happened here? No unauthorized shenanigans, you hope. [#9 - STITCH. A damn good tailor.] He asks, are any shenanigans authorized? You say hell no. He gives you a curt nod. Always refreshing to be in the company of men who don't cotton to nonsense. He says don't worry about it, he'll be along once he finishes up here. Good enough for you. You leave without a word. Here's where Die holes up. Seems he ain't into company at the moment. For half a second, you contemplate respecting the guy's privacy. You spend the other half of the second kicking down his door. Just what in the fresh gobsmacking fuck is going on in here, is the out-loud thing you wonder. What's he doing cooped up with all the live poultry? Die doesn't say a word. Deer in headlights with this guy, when you catch him in the act. There's ALWAYS an act to catch him in, and he never don't get caught. Man's like a deer stuck in the high-beams of a parked ass car. You say nevermind, forget you asked. He starts up with his mumblin' suddenly. Oh, now he's got somethin' to say? What's that pal? Can't hear a word you're sayin'. You said speak up. Look, put the chicken down. You said put it down. That's it, you've had it. You're sick of this shit. How 'bout a taste of the mean end of your crowbar. Both ends are the mean end. He pulls his little doll on you. You gasp. You're not much for sarcasm, but yeah, the gasp was sarcastic. Couldn't help it. It's a mighty potent juju he's got there for sure, but functionally it won't mean squat to you if he sticks your pin in there. He'll jump to a different timeline where you're dead. You'll still be here, though. With one less idiot to corral. [#6 - DIE. Plays with dolls.] Still, won't do you to watch him disappear. Doc wants a word with ALL the idiots. You gesture at Clover. Tell him to make Die listen to reason. Atta boy, Clov-HEY! Cut it out. Both feet on the floor, you mean it. Christ almighty. Smutty little munchkin doesn't know when to quit. You hear a ruckus from the game room. Sounds like the moron motherlode's in there. Yep. It's pinhead playdirt. You tip your cap to Fin and Trace. Couple of peas in a pod, those two. Just a pair of blokes sharing in a bout of what is surely the Game of Lords, a rousing and gentlemanly match of TABLE STICKBALL. And back there, another couple playing a game of... Oh now what the fuck. Is that Itchy!? You could have sworn he was deliberately being a punk and takin' forever with the horse puzzle. Itchy says oh, that old thing? Finished with it AGES ago and sauntered over here for a friendly game of cards with his good friend... ...wait, what was your name again? This guy, he says. The huge asshole with the 14 on his dumb-looking hat. [#14 - QUARTERS. Flips a coin. Looks badass while doing it.] Quarters lets out a deep sigh. Itchy keeps running his trap. Try to keep with the times, OLD MAN. Old man, you say? Technically you're younger than he is. They all are, in fact. He says come again? He didn't follow that. He was busy plucking another hapless pigeon. Itchy slides all the chips to his side of the table. Booyeah, motherfuckers. Booyeah. Die mumbles did he say chicken? You say huh? Die mumbles nothin'. He just thought he heard him say somethin' about chickens is all. All you's listen up. There's a meeting in the study. You say everyone come this way or you'll give 'em what for. (Will you quit clickin' those little buckled shoes together for a Midnight City minute? You say you're flattered but this ain't the time or place!) (Besides, you aren't down with moons. That's not how you roll.) Yeah, yeah. Look, you know it's bad form to leave a game of table stickball before the empty sockets have swallowed all the roundcircles, but this here's a red-letter meeting with doctor white-words. They need to follow you, see? That's what you two are best at, following, ain'tcha? [#3 - TRACE. Can follow peoples' past trails.] [#5 - FIN. Can follow peoples' future trails.] Fin, you can see where anyone's headed in the near future, yeah? You're just askin', because you'll eat your stylish three point hat if every lug in this room isn't headed right out the door in the VERY near future. Isn't that right, Fin? In your haste, your freight train of chartreuse goons almost railroads one of the bigger stiffs rounding the corner. The stiff says hey chief. Where's the fire? You tell him you didn't think you were walking that fast, to be honest. He says no, he was literally asking where the fire was. So he can put it out. See? [#11 - MATCHSTICKS. Concerned with fire safety. It's everyone's business.]  Back of the line, you say. We all got an appointment with the Doc. Yeah, you know the guy was aimin' for a chuckle outta you. Like you said. Comedy's not your bag. It's no one's bag, really. When you belong to the Felt, you're either as serious as a heart attack, or as dumb as a brain hemorrhage. Or the medically spectacular situation where those two problems coincide. Son of a!!! You tell Sawbuck he can stay in the front of the line with you. No chance in hell this butterball can squeeze by all these green bozos. [#10 - SAWBUCK. Again, don't worry about it. You'll hit him up later.] Last thing you need is another mansion clog. You take a detour to hit the lounge. If your instincts are right, this is where you'll find you know who. For some reason, you can never bring yourself to say her name. Two simple syllables. You're told the word means a child's plaything in the winter, like some kinda frost puppet. Fitting that the sound of it sends a chill down your spine. The boys hesitate to speak of her, just like they hold their fire whenever she fades from black. She's here, just like you thought. Creatures of habit, dames. Not that you have much experience with dames, mind you. You only ever met the one. [#8 - SNOWMAN. If Snowman is killed, the universe is destroyed.]  So uh, hey. Yeah, uh. You tell the dame there's this meeting you see. You know. With the Doc? And... yeah. You mumble a few other things, but you don't know why you're even troubling yourself. That spooky broad doesn't give a flying god damn about what you got to say. You lead your posse into the clock room. Well, A clock room. There are a lot of clocks in the mansion. A few too many if you ask you. There's a tarp over there in the corner, covering something up. Something BIG. Some of the boys don't remember ever seein' no tarp there before. Strikes you as a funny observation coming from them, seeing as you can't even figure how they remember to dress themselves half the time. You say never your damn mind, a mouth like that could only conceivably serve as a gateway to the utterly worthless. Look at this mess. Do you really even need to tell these mooks why whatever it is they're doing in here is dumb as all getout? Oh well, at least there are only two of them this time. [#13 - BISCUITS. Thinks his oven allows him to time travel.]  Biscuits says the rest of us are in the oven. You say did you ASK what's in the fucking oven? You say the next time you ask for a peek in his damn oven it'll be on the account of your prior instruction to bake a god damn cake. Sawbuck says ooh. Cake. No, you gluttonous fool! [#10 - SAWBUCK. Jumps to a random point in time when injured.] You said don't open that oven! Never gonna see the Doc at this rate. And by this rate, you mean going back in time due to perfectly avoidable reasons. You keep pressing on like the true professional you are. This way, lunkhead. Yes sir, he waddles. Ah, rats. Someone else is approaching. You got a feeling you know who it is. Aaand yeah. It's you again. Just what you needed, and were inexorably bound to receive due to the laws of causality. Looks like past-you or future-you or whoever is rounding up the troops. You know what? Whatever, man. He's not even going to ask. And neither are you, 'cause you didn't before, and ain't really feelin' any chattier this time around. This buffoon is still in the middle of his endless friggin' sentence. Unbelievable, the kind of horseshit this line of work entails. You consider how you might speed up his bird brained response. Not that it matters, since this guy never made a remark in his life which didn't function as a powerful sedative. You think about walloping Sawbuck again, to skip to another time. Maybe one good drub'll do ya. No, too risky. Might shoot back a million years in the past. Need to take matters into your own hands, or better yet, hands belonging to some grunt you get paid to boss around. [#15 - CANS. Has the ability to clock a guy into next week.] Oh yeah. As in, you forgot what a racket this two ton galoot made when he makes an entrance. That's what you meant when you said oh yeah. As in, oh yeah, you just remembered that. Anyway, you tell Cans to give the slowpoke a lift and break a leg this-a-way. He says huh? You say grab Doze and follow me. Muscle. You swear to god. If it isn't tweedle-dipshit and tweedle-dumbass again. Why are you not surprised? The reason you aren't surprised is because you knew they would be here, and you sought them out deliberately. You don't say that out loud though, for the same reason you don't ask them to do your taxes. Eggs and Biscuits ask what you're doing here, boss. Just completing the circle of stupidity, you say. You hide under the tarp and swear these two walking jokes to absolute secrecy while this whole mess plays itself out again. Not a peep outta them, or you'll be making breakfast, see? And you don't mean pouring yourself a bowl of Froot Loops, get your drift? They don't get your drift, but time's up. Other-you and the peanut gallery's gonna waltz in any minute. Any minute later... About damned time. Like pulling teeth, herding these fuckups. How long did that even take? Not counting negative time, you mean. "Nineteen pages, it would seem." What? That many? "Yes." Seems like a lot. "Well, there are nearly that many members to gather." "I'd characterize the final tally as predictable, in hindsight." The Doc sure can be a smartass. You keep that thought to yourself. "Not that the omniscient has much use for hindsight. Not even those of us deemed smartasses by our subordinates." You don't got a clue how he does that. And if you're honest with yourself, and him too, you don't much care. "Please see me in my study at once." You heard the man. Let's mosey. They didn't hear a thing, but they follow you anyway. Welcome, minions. Ages ago, beyond a span of time that is impossible to measure in any empirical sense, our master set in motion a critical chain of events. He summoned you all one by one. And in return, you have vowed to serve him for the rest of his interminable life, just as I have sworn to do for the remainder of mine. Yes, you may resemble a flock of unremarkable, unintelligent cretins. But as the servants of a very important man, you, by extension, are also very important. If all thoughts but one escape the cottony substance wadded up inside your heads, let this one be the one you keep. Your mission, which I am about to describe, is but another link in this critical chain. It is far from the last, and even further from the first. There have been many crucial links over the epochs to which I myself have been privy and complicit. I will describe to you in a plurality of detail. Listen carefully. Cripes. Baldy McSoftBody here sure enjoys the sound of his own voice. You wonder if he'll get to the point soon. "I am a patient man, Mr. Seven. It is a quality that has served me well in preparing for the arrival of our master." You wonder how he DOES that. You ain't even talkin' out loud here. This is just a bit of hard boiled, no-nonsense narrative introspection. You're pretty sure it ain't even real in any meaningful respect. "No-nonsense? You flatter yourself. May I continue?" Yeah, yeah. The Doc dives cueball-first through some mad ramble on a fairytale about some giant space frog. You're on pins and needles as you check your watch. You know it ain't lost on a smart cookie like him that checkin' your watch in a room full of clocks is extra passive-aggressive. Yada yada, then he says there's some planet that grew in its belly called Alternicon or what have you. Run by a race of savages it would seem. Long story short, the Doc here fucked with 'em for about a billion damn years and they all died off as a result. Heh. Classic Scratch. Ah, got it. The town they built is Midnight City. It's just a bomb's lob away from the gang's mansion. GREAT place for crimes. Almost like it was put there just so's a load of goons like you could have your run of the place. In fact, you're pretty sure that's why the boss set up shop on this one-town rock, just outside city limits. You know what they say about location. Well, they don't say nothin' special about it. They just say the word two more times, and that pretty much gets the point across. "Cool story." After a few more minutes and a few more barbs exchanged through a conversational medium you still can't quite wrap your head around, Doc wraps up the history lesson. Cripes. Not to second guess the head honcho, but delegating his orders to this bloviating creep is a helluva test to a faithful third officer's loyalty. He's got a folder and says let's get down to business. Let's get down to business. As you can see, I've got a folder. It contains your mission. You will review it carefully. By which I mean, one of you, this organization's faithful third officer. He will lead a team on this mission. No kidding. You take the folder and check it out. Says you're supposed to... Huh. You're supposed to- You're supposed to retrieve a package from an anonymous recipient. I cannot divulge the identity of this man. If you are able to bring the package to me, I will give you further instructions. You are to pick up the package from a courier in the city. He is to rendezvous with you at the supplied address, at a precise time. You are not to be late, and never open the package. Do you all understand what I have said? You scope the crowd. They're bored out of their melons. And, nope. Nobody understands. Except for you. It's your job to understand. CHOOSE YOUR TEAM, CROWBAR. He tells you to pick a team for the job and be on your way. Seems like this pack of lugs has worn out its welcome in his office. Which is an ironic attitude to have for a guy who makes his bones holding men hostage to hours-long anecdotes, but whatever. The team's an easy call. You'll go with the solid colors today. A pickup is light work. You don't see the need to pack any muscle on this trip. Hard to imagine securing a box from a chess guy could ever get too hot to handle. And in any case, the Doc being omniscient surely would let you know in advance if it was gonna go down like that, right? "Any man with my foresight, who had your best interests in mind, would do exactly as you say. Absolutely." Yeah, see? Gotta love the Doc. But then again, it's like you've always said. For a filthy liar, the Doc sure is good at stickin' to the truth. You remember his genteel assurance like a knife stuck in your mind. Hell, maybe that's roughly akin to the way the guy speaks, since he ain't got a mouth to make sound with. You remember piling into this hot car with your six solids and cruising through the desert like it happened last week. Hell, when you wet your whistle on time travel as much as you, maybe it even did. And the first time you got offed? You remember that like it was yesterday. Less than yesterday, even, because that's what you do. Remember things. You remember the first time you laid eyes on the Midnight City skyline. You remember your first kiss. And you remember that fateful night plain as day. The night you met a man named Spades Slick.