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"It's
a Wonderful Life"
by Darkamber
The mutant henchmen (and women, hard to tell the difference,
even among
themselves) are even more nervous than usual as they sit with
Creegan
around the table, playing something he called
"poker". It's a boring game -
nobody even get to poke anyone - and worse, Creegan is on a
bender, as if
he isn't unpredictable and short-tempered enough when he's
sober.
"...and those utterly useless scientists!" he rants
on, "Here I fork out
credits, and what do I get? A snark! I wanted a bojum and they
gave me a
goddamn snark!"
Nod heads, make sympathetic noises.
Some drinks later:
"...just call me The Clown Prince of Crime!" Snigger.
"And Voice would be
Batman, no make that Batwoman! Now, batman was cool!
Voice isn't cool,
though, cold, yesh, oh, yeah, a real cold bitch..."
"Your turn to deal, Creegan, sir!"
"Huh? Oh, right."
Relieved looks at having prevented another "Voice is a
bitch" rant.
Another couple of drinks later:
"...and then I drove the knife into his guts, like this!"
He knocks his
glass over, spilling the drink; the nearest mutant hurries to
refill it.
"Right in front of ev'ryone! And they all go, like: 'Oh
my god, he killed
daddy! You bastard!' " He laughs so hard he would have
fallen backwards if
the nearest mutant hadn't steadied his chair.
"Oh, yeah, it's a wonnerful life down here, in the
twentysixshth - jush
call me 'George Bailey'!" Chuckle, snigger.
Discreet, questioning looks, and shrugs; no-one has any idea
what he's
raving about, as usual.
Several more drinks, and some lost games later:
"Screw you guys! I'm going home!"
He gets slowly to his feet, staggers a little, then heads for
his private
quarters, walking with the deliberate carefulness of a drunk
who's trying
to pretend to be sober.
The mutants slide down in their chairs, almost fainting in
relief; everyone
has survived the game, this time.
One of them mutters:
"Wonderful life, my ass!"
(9. October 2003)
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"The Man"
by Darkamber
“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Bigshot,” Skuzz sneered when he
saw the all too familiar crimson clad figure enter the
combined hideout and club. “Look at him, swaggering as if he
owns the place, nodding around as if he’s bloody royalty or
sumthin’.”
“Ssssh!” Drek hissed at his drinking buddy in near panic.
“Geez, not so loud! Are you feeling suicidal!?”
“The Big Bad, Public Enemy Number One, thinks he’s so much
better than the rest of us,” Skuzz continued; he’d
obviously had more than one drink too many. Hopefully the loud
music was drowning his words. Drek was ready to run for it, if
it wasn’t, so he kept an alert eye on Creegan for any signs
that he’d move towards them.
“Look at those girls drooling all over him! Sluts! What’s
so special about that dolled up freak, huh?”
“Well, he is The Man,” Drek said. “And he’s
damned good in bed,” he added with a wistful sigh.
Skuzz gave him a funny look.
“Or so I’ve heard them say!” Drek hastened to add, glad
that the dim lights hid the blush he felt heating his cheeks.
“Why don’t those sluts ever hang on us like that, huh?
We’re pretty bad, too!”
Yeah, but the big difference is that Creegan doesn’t smell
bad, Drek thought, and wrinkled his nose as he got a whiff of
his buddy’s odour. And the way he moves... and that grin!
Whoa! Too bad he only seemed to be into pretty, young females...
“Bastard,” Skuzz said with feeling, envy shining
clearly through.
“Yeah...” Drek sighed.
(14. October 2003)
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