some-messed-up-writing-for-you:

Short Prompt #488

“Ah, Scientist! How’s experiment number 387 doing?” - the villain asked, strolling into the lab. Said scientist jumped in surprise before turning to their boss.

“V-Villain, sir! Uh- Everything’s going smoothly so far.” - Scientist replied, checking something on their tablet as Villain walked over to the giant tube in the middle of the room.

The criminal ran their hand down the glass, admiring the creature growing inside it. “Marvelous~. Once this beauty is finished, we’ll be unstoppable.”

This got very silly. Thanks for a great prompt @some-messed-up-writing-for-you!

There was a long pause as the villain basked. It was a good bask. They were having fun. Until the scientist cleared their throat nervously.

The villain sighed. “What?”

Their scientist wrung their hands nervously. “Well, uh. I know it might be above my pay grade but uh…”

“Spit it out, Scientist!” Villain pulled a potato chip from their jacket pocket and bit in. “I pay you to think, let’s hear those thoughts.”

“You, uh,” the scientist stammered, staring at the villain’s snack, “technically don’t pay me. But that’s not the point! You do keep saying things like we’ll be unstoppable and all shall bow before me, and I would remiss not to point out we have no idea what kind of traits or personality we’re going to get when our chimera decants.”

“An excellent point!” The villain crammed in another potato chip, chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “Two questions then. One, what do you know about animal handling? And two, what do you mean I’m not paying you?”

“You, uh, technically kidnapped me?” the scientist said with a nervous laugh, hugging their tablet to their chest. “But I have been doing some reading in zoology and aquarium journals-”

“Great initiative. Now shut up,” interrupted the villain, looking less amused, more confused. “I kidnapped you?”

“Well, yeah.” The scientist looked a little hurt. “The International Biochem conference in Berlin? I was presenting a paper, it wasn’t going well. But then you - you suddenly stormed the stage yelling that I was a genius and my talents were wasted on them and then you, um,” the scientist blushed bright red, “you sorta tossed me over your shoulder and you had these kinda rocket powered skates-”

“Mm.” The villain nodded thoughtfully. “The Jet Set Rockets, yes. This is ringing a bell. Go on.”

“And then you brought me here. But no big deal!” the scientist hurriedly said. “Everyone just sort of forgot I was a prisoner after a few days. I was able to go home, pack my stuff, let the landlord know I was breaking my lease because I’d been kidnapped. But to get back to Beastica -”

"Beastica?”

“Oh, sorry! I mean…” The scientist ducked their head, running a hand gently along the glass. “That’s just what I’ve been calling her in my head. I didn’t mean to presume.”

“Beastica,” the villain hummed. They placed their hand next to the scientist’s on the glass. “I dig it.”

“Oh wow,” the scientist breathed. “But, uh, I am short on cash and some of that zoology literature is behind paywall, so can I get that expensed? Subscription to the Annual Review of Animal Biosciences and the Journal of Experimental Biology should do it.”

“Sure, sure! Tell Accounting Deirdre I authorized it and she’ll order it for you. Now.” The villain grabbed the tablet out of the scientist’s hand and flung it away.

“Hey!” the scientist yelped - and then shut up as the villain advanced on them, eyes glinting with intent.

“We need to sort this out,” the criminal purred, backing the scientist across the lab. “You can’t be ‘kinda’ kidnapped. That effects things, like your PTO accrual and whether you get invited to the holiday party.“ The scientist gasped as they hit the wall. The villain was there in a flash, hands bracketing them against the cement. "So what’ll it be, genius?” they grinned, running a finger down the scientist’s lab coat lapel. “Are you kidnapped, or do you maybe kinda wanna be here?”

“Oh, um…” the scientist stammered, eyes perfectly round aa they watched villain’s hand trace across their chest. “I mean, maybe… I don’t know! Can’t we do something in the middle?”

“Independent contractor! Got it!” The villain abruptly stepped back and started tapping things into their phone. “Go tell HR Deirdre you need a W9. That’s a good choice,” the villain went on, with a sly glass up through their lashes. “I have a strict no fraternization policy with my employees, but I don’t see any reason I can’t throw a contractor over my shoulder every now and again. If they ask nicely.”

“Okay,” whispered the scientist again, melting slowly into a puddle.

The criminal gave them a wink and handed them a pretzel stick from their shirt pocket. “I wanna see that behavioral plan by Thursday! Keep up the good work and you shall be rewarded in my day of victory!”

“Will do, sir,” the scientist whispered and hurried back to building their villain the world’s most beautiful marauding monster.

The minister pointed his finger at the queen. “The poison in your wine could only have come from her, your majesty! The queen is trying to kill you!” “No,” said the king. “If my wife wished to kill me she would look me in the eye and push a dagger into my chest.”

Prompt courtesy of@writing-prompt-s, as foundhere

“Stop joking around when you’re dying!” I snarled at my idiot husband, now turning a delicate purple. The minister was backing away, so I leapt the table, ripping my dagger loose straight through the hole in my skirts.

He shrieked and tried to run, but courtly life had not been kind to his dexterity or his strength. It was child’s play to take him to the ground, my blade to his throat. “What did you give him? Where is the antidote?”

The minister’s eyes were wide and he was blubbering. It was an embarrassing display from a senior courtier - you’d think the man had never been in a knife fight before. “I don’t - Madame, I - what are you implying?”

“You see, it wasn’t me so that means it must have been you,” I said sweetly to the minister. “Talk or I flay you alive from the balls up.”

It was too theatrical a threat. I could see the pompous mask settle again. “Now see here-” he started.

I stabbed him. He screamed.

“Darling please,” wheezed my moron husband, who should have been sitting down and conserving his breath. “We need… answer…”

“Working on it,” I sang back, grinding my dagger against the minister’s shoulder joint. He screamed again and a spurt of blood landed on my bodice. One of the summoned guards who’d been hovering turned away, his face green. Honestly, I was going to have to fire everyone next week. “I realize these aren’t your balls. This is the warning stab to make my point that I am quite serious.” I pulled my stiletto from my hair, considered the thin blade critically. “Not the best weapon for the job, but I’ll make do. Might have to stab your balls a bit instead of flaying.”

I reached down for his pants.

“Wait!” the minister screamed. “It’s golden rest vine. Golden rest vine!”

There were gasps through the court. At least a couple were clearly fake and I cursed my inability to look in all directions at once.

“Never heard of it.” I slit the fabric open. “I hope for your balls’ sake there’s an antidote.”

“I know! I know that one!” We all turned to look at the little court doctor, hitherto best noted for their ability to fall asleep on two glasses of wine. They blushed but kept their hand up like they were in school. “Standard milkweed powder and brandy.”

“Then go get it,” I hissed and the only member of the court staff who was still going to have their job next week bobbled off at full speed. I turned back to the minister cowering at my feet. “You’re a coward and a traitor,” I declared. And incompetent, I added but only mentally as I couldn’t very well critique an enemy assassin for that quality. “Guards, take him away to stand trial at the king’s pleasure.”

Now that I’d done all their job for them, the guards rushed in a great clank of armor to drag the stupid man away. That handled, I turned back to the stupid man I’d married.

The doctor was already back, trying to feed my husband a cup with their hands shaking worse than his. “Great… great work, my love,” he wheezed.

“No. Beloved. Rest,” I said and grabbed him by the nose. His jaw flapped open and the doctor poured the draught down his gullet. I crushed his head to my breast in a tender embrace before he could spit it out.

“How dare you try to die on me?” I hissed in his ear. “I told you your death is mine when I’m done with you!”

My husband wriggled his head free to look up at me, his color already returning. “Yes, dear,” he whispered back with his stupid, inane smile entirely inappropriate to a man nearly killed by a greedy minister and incompetent staff. He touched my face gently. His fingers came away wet. “Don’t cry, love. I’ll be fine.”

“I am not crying!” I protested, but my husband forestalled further argument on the topic by turning his head and emptying the contents of his stomach across my skirts. In the ensuing clean up of yet another mess, he slipped into gentle rest before I could conclusively prove him wrong.

Another thing I’d have to get revenge for. Another reason - no, another obligation to keep the idiot alive, no matter how exhausting.

It’s a hard thing, proper revenge, but absolutely worth doing right. I’d get him. Someday.

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Have a hoppin cool Easter yall

cute-without-the-espresso: