Previous Post     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Since when has the Hooded Hood had an organ?” demanded Amnesia.     Flapjack leered at her. “Well, you should know, right?” he checked.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I mean the musical instrument,” the undead avenger clarified coldly. The sonorous tones of the great instrument echoed through the empty chambers of the old insane asylum. The semi-transparent girl in the tattered tabard glared at the hunchbacked butler. “Why are you even in Herringcarp? You work for the Lair Legion.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Well sure,” agreed Flapjack. “Except when the Hood wants a goblet of wine or something, and then I’m back here for a few minutes. He is the Hooded Hood, you know. Retcons are him.”     Modest Mussorgsky’s Night on a Bald Mountain resounded towards its crescendo. “So now he’s always had an organ here?” asked Amnesia.     Flapjack shrugged. “I think the organ’s always been assumed. I mean come on. Latvian accent. Check. Received English vocabulary. Check. Spooky haunted headquarters that has an average of two thunderstorms per night. Check. You really think he was not going to install an organ in here?”     Clockwatcher peered out from the library. “Is that an organ?” he asked.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“We already had that conversation,” Flapjack told Mr Hazlewood, the organised supervillain the Hood had employed to keep his files in order. “Let’s just agree for the sake or argument that, yes, he’s got an organ. And surprise surprise he’s not playing Teddy Bear’s Picnic on it.”     Amnesia restrained the urge to strangle the hunchbacked retainer. There was always the chance that if she did he’d come back as another ghost haunting Herringcarp, and nobody wanted Flapjack to gain the power to peek his head through walls. “Maybe the question I should have asked,” she tried again,” is why is he suddenly playing that organ now?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I dunno,” admitted Flapjack. “It can’t be a visit from Lisa. He’d never be dumb enough to let Lisa start on the organ jokes.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“There’s somebody with him,” Amnesia noted. “Somebody who isn’t emanating any life force, by the way.”     Clockwatcher checked one of the pocketwatches dangling from his waistcoat. “Ah. That’ll be the Abyssal Greye, then. He’s early.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Actually, I’m pretty sure he’s definitely late,” quipped Flapjack. “On account of him being an undead ghoul and suchlike? Late? As in…”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Does the Hood still need a goblet fetching?” asked Amnesia acidly. “Isn’t it time you retconned back to annoying Goldeneyed?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Hood didn’t mention what this particular meeting was about,” noted Clockwatcher. “It makes keeping the diary very difficult. I don’t suppose either of you has any ideas?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Ideas about the purpose of the meeting,” clarified Amnesia sharply before Flapjack could speak. “I’ve no idea. The Hood and the Dean of the Scholar-Ghouls Under Gothametropolis York do occasionally converse when their interests align, but that’s not too often.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“But put them in a high-rise apartment somewhere and you’d have one weird and wacky sitcom,” suggested Flapjack. “With Lara Night as the cooky neighbour who keeps dropping in.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Maybe it has to do with those Deviate manuscripts the Hood had me recover?” Clockwatcher speculated. “You know, when the Lair Legion went into the underworld and discovered those forgotten Agharthan tunnels and so forth. While they were battling and making a loud ruckus I had to slip in and remove some ancient texts from a hidden temple. Standard stuff, although the Purveyors were rather unhappy when the mithrum statues started attacking them.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Did all VelcroVixen’s clothes fall off then?” asked Flapjack hopefully. “Please say yes.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“It was a standard mission,” observed Clockwatcher.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“So that’s a yes then,” bitched Amnesia.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Deviates wrote in a very complicated language that involves three dimensions, nine alphabets, and eleven coloured inks,” Clockwatcher lectured. “Very hard to translate. I suggested the Hood just retcon the Librarian back to life but apparently that would interfere with some major future plotline. Instead he set off some entirely unrelated schemes about an abandoned gold mine in Chile, some space-faring theatre troupe winning an award, a coup amongst the insectivoids of the Queazy Zone, and the theft of a necklace from the British Museum in 1865,”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Unrelated, yeah,” said Flapjack sceptically. “And we’ll never hear anything else about those ever again.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“And the organ?” persisted Amnesia. “I mean, what’s that got to do with…” She stopped and sniffed. “Why does the asylum smell of chilli?”     Clockwatcher frowned and checked his schedule again. An appointment had always been there that he hadn’t noticed before. “Apparently a certain cowled crime czar has ordered in from the Caterers of Doom.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Really?” hissed Flapjack wrathfully. “Excuse me for a moment, guys, ‘cause I need to find the Smurfish Chef who thinks he’s in charge of that bunch of sad loser domestic-villaining wannabees and settle one and for all who’s got the biggest…”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Of course!” interrupted Clockwatcher, snapping his fingers. “He is translating the Deviate manuscript!”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“He is?” Amnesia puzzled. “What makes you so sure?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Smurfish Chef is translating the boss’ manuscript?” fumed Flapjack. “Right, that really does it. He’s sushi. He’s what happens when you put sushi in a blender. One of NTU-150’s blenders.”     Clockwatcher tutted. “The Hood is translating the document. Remember, the ancient Deviates were ruled by a cabal of six mighty beings, each of which exemplified one of the five normal senses, plus ESP. Their culture was based around all six of those methods of perception. It makes sense that their writing would require taste, and sound, and smell as well as touch and sight to translate. That’s why we’ve got chilli odours and Mussorgski!”     The door to the Hood’s sanctum opened and the Abyssal Greye shuffled out in his faded quilted dressing gown and tattered carpet slippers, side-by-side with the Hooded Hood.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Thank you for your assistance,” the Hood told the Scholar Ghoul.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Thanks you for brain,” replied the Abyssal Greye, clutching a bell jar under his arm. “He’ll be a wonderful addition to out circle.”     Amnesia shuddered. “I’m undead and I’m creeped out,” she admitted.     The Abyssal nodded politely at the asylum’s familiar spirit, exchanged a professional greeting with Mr Hazelwood, stepped round Flapjack, and left by way of the crypts.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Did you get the Deviate manuscript translated?” Clockwatcher asked as the Hood turned back to his throne room.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Indeed,” agreed the cowled crime czar. “Several days ago.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“What?” asked Amnesia. “Then why the chilli and the music? I mean, we thought…”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“How could you read that stuff without the chilli, is what we’re wondering, boss,” Flapjack admitted. “Of course, since it was Caterers of Doom chilli the chances of it doing the job are pretty slim…”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I simply asked Gromm the Living Flatulence to interpret the manuscript,” the archvillain pointed out. “He is the last remaining Deviate lord, albeit one from a now-defunct parallel reality.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“But the organ…” protested Amnesia.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Abyssal enjoys Mussorgski,” noted the Hood, “and hot chilli.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“And that’s all?” Flapjack gasped. “You didn’t have, like, three other reasons for palying the organ?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“No,” the Hood replied. “I had fourteen. Am I not… the Hooded Hood?”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“And you’re not going to tell us what they were, are you?” Amnesia realised.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“There is no time to explain now,” the Hood responded. “Since the Caterers of Doom are unavailable for other assignment, Peter von Doom has had to hire the Destiny Carnival instead. This in turn has made them unable to assist in the plots of a renegade surviving faction of Skree terrorists who therefore cannot bomb an archaeological dig on Reticula Minor. Mr Hazelwood, please invite Shazana Pel and her Thonnagarians to travel there and retrieve for me the artefact known locally as the Nalathi Stone. Then place a small advertisement in the Daily Trombone offering a puppy to a good home, instruct Anvil Man to demolish a rather ugly social services office in Antwerp, and ensure that Champagne Cacciatore overhears someone say the word “bicircumvallations” before 4.15 this afternoon.”     Ã¢â‚¬Å“On it,” promised Clockwatcher, making copious notes and adding a timestamp.     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Excellent,” replied the cowled crime czar, returning to his chambers.     Shortly afterwards the asylum resounded again as the organ played John Walter Bratton’s most famous composition. *** The Hooded Hood's Homepage of Doom Who's Who in the Parodyverse Where's Where in the Parodyverse Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2011 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2011 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Ian Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.

If you go down to the Hood's today you're sure of a big surprise.
If you go down to the Hood's today beware of his glowing eyes,
For every plot that ever there was
(Or not) is reconfigured because
Today's the day the Hooded Hood wrangles the cosmic.