Previous Post “Chemical Breakdown: Melting Point” “Like it?” Constance Blott asked Michael Wooster, twirling to give him a better view, “its Daddy’s wedding present.” The “it” in question was a jet black, floor length fur coat, “Genuine manticore,” she identified the garment’s pedigree. Michael was doubtful, “I don’t think such creatures exist.” “Oh, Michael, you’re so clueless sometimes,” the wild eyed heiress spun herself again, “Don’t worry: once we’re married you’ll learn how the world really works. So many things will be opened for you.” And, to demonstrate, Constance held open the coat to show it came with matching lingerie. “Er, yes,” Michael blushed, “about those. I mean that. And by that, the marriage. I’m afraid our plans have hit something of a snag.” “What?” Even though he was on familiar terrain Michael still felt anxious. Anticipating the high drama that was sure to follow, he took a deep breath and told Constance, “The wedding is off.” ***** Agnes Wooster flung open the door to Baron Ottokar Von Zemo’s sanctum sanctorum and ran to the Nazi Necromancer’s arms, “It’s a disaster, Otto! Just a disaster!” “Ach! Mind the pentagram, woman! Break the circle and we will be drowning in the spirits of the damned!” the villain shouted over the cries of the aforementioned specters. In a language never heard in polite of even human company the Baron cut short the ritual and turned his attention to Agnes, “Now, what troubles you, libeling?” Pacing outside the line of runes carved into the floor of Castle Shreckhausen, the matriarch of the Wooster clan waved a copy of the Daily Trombone , “My son is at it again. Making a fool of himself and putting his entire family at risk with his antics.” “Alcheman thwarts Mayoral Assassination?” Otto feigned surprise as he read the paper’s headline, “So, he has once again resumed his costumed identity. Tragic. I can see why you are so out of sorts.” “Out of sorts is an understatement! He is going to cost us everything!” “Yes, I remember your concern. That if his identity is revealed, the boy’s actions as a costumed vigilante could lead to Wooster’s Department Store being sued. How reckless of him to put his own petty needs over those of his kin.” “Agnes’s eyes narrowed, “It’s not pettiness. Michael…. Just doesn’t understand how the world truly works. His idealism is maddening!” bursting into sobs, she embraced her unalive paramour. “An interesting observation,” Baron Otto said to her before acknowledging to himself, “And perhaps: a promising diagnosis.” ***** “Now see here, Michael Wooster: you are not going to back out of this engagement. I’m not anything like that cow Honoria Sesselby, who let you off with just a few stitches and a fat lip. No, if you dare try to revert to type, I will ruin you and that entire sideshow you call a family. Blott Munitions spends more in a year on Post-It Notes then what Wooster’s is worth in its entirety. And even a wooly-headed ninny like you knows what money buys. Power. One call from me and Parodopolis will have so many Sprawl Marts, Costcoops, and Targits opening the competition will destroy you family’s little Five and Dime Empire. Agnes will be living out of the back of her limousine, that is, as long as she can stay ahead of the repo man. And the only premieres your idiot sisters will be in line for is when the government hands out a new stock of surplus cheese! As for you, you won’t be able to get a job teaching hygiene to death row inmates when I’m done! I will not be embarrassed by your spineless dithering! We are to be married and that is that. Am I understood?” “Yes,” Michael said, realizing his fiancée had put significant thought into how she would respond to any threat to their upcoming nuptials. Constance Blott smiled triumphantly, but quickly turned apologetic, “I hate to come off so, I don’t know, shrewish, but really, Michael, its for the best. You are a man of many enduring qualities, but resoluteness is not one of them. I have to be strong for both of us. Please forgive me, darling.” Michael Wooster saw no other option, “Of course, Constance. I don’t know what came over me.” ***** “Madness,” Baron Otto intoned, “Or a reasonable enough facsimile. For my revenge, for my woman’s piece of mind, Alcheman must be driven out of his.” Black Wattle clucked disapprovingly, “Dat is why I have come all dis way to Paradopolis? It is a task beneath my talents.” “Have a care, Black Wattle,” the Jaundiced Junker warned the man in the rooster costume. “Besides, Hoboken isn’t that far from here as the chicken flies,” Mary Prankster quipped. Otto slammed a gloved fist on the table, “Seien Sie leise! I will not tolerate such insolence from my underlings! You were all contracted to do a job, and will play your parts without comment.” “You hired the wrong flunky then, Mistah Zee,” the limber woman in the harlequin costume opined as she performed a handstand in her chair, “Especially when you put me to work with Foghorn Leghorn over there: too, too many possibilities for comedy” “Foghorn Leghorn? I do not understand,” the Voodoo King of Port Au Prince said. The last member of the Baron’s conspiracy sneered, “Forget it. Clown Girl once again fails to entertain.” “Soemthing I’m sure you’ve never been accused of, Velcro Vixen,” Mary stuck her tongue out at her former teammate in the Purveyors of Peril. The slinky blonde turned to her employer, “If you’re not going to let me kill Alcheman, at least let me do her.” “I’m not that kind of girl, Vickie.” “Enough! Alcheman is not to be killed! It would be… inelegant,” Zemo rationalized, “as for the clown, she is needed. For while you and Black Wattle spring the trap, it is up to her to make sure Michael Wooster cannot escape it. Ever.” Next: Bad Voodoo