Tales of the Parodyverse >> View Post
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Dancer's still not a fan of tattoos tho.
In Reply To
killer shrike

Subj: Well I like his new look :-)
Posted: Sat Nov 22, 2008 at 05:26:16 am EST
Reply Subj: “Chemical Breakdown: Bad Voodoo”
Posted: Sun Nov 16, 2008 at 12:31:59 pm EST


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“Chemical Breakdown: Bad Voodoo”

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>
> “My God, what have you done?” Constance Blott gaped at Michael’s new look.
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> Sheepishly, he ran his fingers through what was left of his hair, “It is rather short.”
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> “That’s the cut a person gets before they are put in the electric chair,” her tone became accusatory, “Is this some type of passive-aggressive statement? A comparison of our upcoming marriage to a state sanctioned execution? You’re the Dead Groom Walking?”
>
> “No!” Michael replied, “I mean, it was you who demanded I see the stylist of your choosing, and to let her ‘work her magic’.”
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> Constance glared at him for several moments, “I suppose that’s true. Hmph. Well, nothing can be done about it now. Other than to uninvite Maryse to the wedding and make sure that butcher never works in this town again.”
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> If Maryse were still among the living this would have indeed concerned her. However, she was hogtied in the back of her salon’s closet by the woman who took her place, she was beyond such slights to her reputation.
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> Velcro Vixen, meanwhile, was carefully sweeping up every last strand of Michael Wooster’s shorn locks. They would need all of it to ensure that Black Wattle could work his magic.
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>
*****

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> Jenni and Trudi Wooster were more than a little put off when they learned they were not to be in their brother’s wedding party. Even if the twins hadn’t been on the best of terms with the Blotts, etiquette said it was only proper to include them. After all, it wasn’t as though Michael had much familial representation in the ceremony. Cousin Bertram of the Osterville Woosters had been picked as an usher, and Uncle Roderick was forced to take the role of best man since Michael had drifted away from all of his childhood companions, and he certainly could not invite the friends he had made as a superhero. He had managed to conceal his dual life as Alcheman from Constance, which seemed curious to the twins, given the evident distinctiveness of the tattoos that gave him his powers.
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> “She’s never seen him with his shirt off,” Jenni concluded, “which means, you know, no s-e-x.”
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> “Are you really surprised, sister? Constance always did strike me as a cold fish. That’s why its up to us to make sure Michael’s last hours as a single man are memorable,” Trudi stated as she watched the roustabouts unload the rented fog machine.
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> “Planning his bachelor party has been a trip. I hope Michael enjoys it.”
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> Trudi shook her head, “Oh, I’m sure tonight’s revels will be nothing for an embarrassment for him.”
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> “That’s too bad,” Jenni said, crestfallen, perking up when she realized, “Constance will feel the same way.”
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> “And Agnes. Don’t forget Agnes.”
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> The twins clinked their margarita glasses and settled back in their chairs to watch the caterers transform the Wooster Mansion grounds into a more appropriate setting for their planned festivities.
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>
*****

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> From PMZ.com:
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> “Wooster Wigs Out at Wedding Wingding”
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> A Wooster making a public spectacle of themselves may not like news to regular readers of this site (love ya, Jenni and Trudi) but in this case it is: the sole male heir to the department store franchise was seen on a rampage at the trendy Gasparo’s Ristorante during his own wedding party luncheon. Cameras caught Michael Wooster, the black sheep of the Wooster flock, engaging in some highly dubious behavior, including tipping over tables, haranguing staff, and most spectacularly, donning a makeshift bridal veil and attempting to dance with his future father-in-law, the Parodyverse’s scariest billionaire, arms magnate Obadiah Blott. Private security was seen hustling Blott and daughter Constance out of Gasparo’s while paramedics and police tended to the incoherent groom-to-be. PMZ has exclusive shots of Wooster matriarch Agnes Wooster looking embarrassed at her son’s condition, though one would think between the antics of her daughters and late husband, she’d be used to such outbursts. Neither family has released a statement, and the authorities have yet to say whether criminal charges will be filed against young Michael. Keeping reading PMZ.com for future updates to this story.
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>
*****

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> Michael was not alone in the room for long. A mousy looking woman, her hair pulled back in a severe bun, came in and sat down across the table from him.
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> “Good morning, Mister Wooster. How are you feeling today?” Doctor Mary Louise Pfeffercorn asked her newest patient.
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> “Other than the itch on my nose, fine.”
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> She smiled, “Isn’t that always the way? A body gets put in a straightjacket and suddenly gets the urge to scratch. It’s positively Pavlovian.”
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> “I wouldn’t know: I’ve never been put in one before.”
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> The psychiatrist archly arched her eyebrow, “Reeaallly? That is a surprise, given your family’s pedigree.”
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> “Speaking of my family, have they been notified as to my wherabouts?”
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> Dr. Pfeffercorn continued looking through the papers attached to her clipboard, “Hm, what? Oh, yes. Sounds like your little breakdown put the kibosh on some big party plans.”
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> If there was one positive consequence to this experience for Michael, that was it, “I did not have a breakdown.”
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> “What would you call it then?”
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> “It was…. I don’t know how to describe it. I wasn’t in control of my body.”
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> “Well, there were no signs of drugs in your system,” Mary pointed out.
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> “Of course there wasn’t,” Michael snapped, “That’s not what I meant. It was as if I was compelled to do those things by an outside entity.”
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> “I see. So what did these voices sound like?”
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> “I didn’t say I heard voices. I just, sensed, that there was a pressure, on the fringe of my perception, making me act as I did.”
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> “A split personality, then. Did he give you his name?”
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> “It wasn’t a split personality!” the young man railed, before realizing this was not the most appropriate time to seem unreasonable.
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> Mary kept up the pressure, “How would you know? Ever had one before? You could be someone else right now, Michael. Should I even call you Michael?”
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> “Yes. I’m Michael Wooster. And there is nothing wrong with me. Someone, or something, manipulated me into doing those things.”
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> “Mmmmhhhmmm,” for several minutes the doctor scribbled onto her pad, “Can you offer any kind of reason someone would want to treat you like that?”
>
> “No,” Alcheman lied. The hero was sure this was an attack by an enemy, but who or why was still unknown.
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> Mary smiled, pushed her glasses up her nose, and offered her finding, “I think, Michael, you are suffering from what we in the medical game call ‘paranoid schizophrenia’, also known as schizophrenic paranoia, brought on by extreme emotional stress.”
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> “No. Trust me, that isn’t the case.”
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> “Hey, who’s the doctor here? I’ve had years of experience recognizing crazy people and boy Howdy, you got all the signs,” there was a long pause, and then the woman blurted, “I’m not Prussian to judgment here.”
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> “I beg your pardon?” Michael’s eyes narrowed.
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> Suddenly it seemed as if Doctor Pfeffercorn were the one influenced by an outside force, “You heard me. This diagnosis was easy to make. Even Ottomatic, you could say.”
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> Alcheman’s faced darkened as he hissed, “Zemo!”
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> “You’re not Baron this news well at all, Mikey.”
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> The Chemical Crimefighter struggled to rise from his chair, “Baron Zemo did this to me, somehow, and you’re in on it!”
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> “See: classic paranoid behavior right there. Next thing you know you’ll be claiming I stole your strawberries,” Mary Prankster backflipped from her seat and to the door, “I’m recommendin you be confined thirty days to a mental facility for further observation.”
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> “Never!” Michael charged into the arms of a pair of policemen who had entered the room, “I’ll fight this! I’ll fight you! The Zemos aren’t going to win this!”
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> “Sh. Relax. The more you struggle the more it’s going to hurt,” Mary slid up her skirt and removed the hypodermic needle strapped to her garter. Once Michael was fully restrained she injected him with a powerful sedative, “There we go. That’s a good boy.”
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> As Michael’s legs gave way and he was being lowered to the floor, Mary leaned down and whispered one last piece of advice, “Hey, Alcheman, when you get to Herringcarp Asylum tell them you only eat kosher. The food’s much better that way.”
>
> Next: OMD + BND -----> Trouble?
>





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