WORLD DOMINATION : SENILE DANGER
Hetty and Dumbledore set their plan in motion, operating from an elderly home for the senile and the old NCIS HQs. Humor ensues. One-shot sequel to The Dangers Of Being Senile. Round Two of my SWB Initiative.
"It has been set in motion."
Her hoarse whisper is a result of the sudden lack of tea to her system. Having foreseen that she will soon rule the world, she sees no reason to put up with the horrible substance they call tea in this place.
"Zeet zas been planned. Zey will not zand in zour way now."
He's traded in his British accent for a very bad, very fake French one. This is a new development; she regards him with a healthy dose of sarcasm. Eventually, she shrugs; at least he sounds evil now.
"Oh yes."
She nods, holding open the door as they creep out into the night, the unseasonably cool air a minor obstacle in their path.
"They will not stand in our way now."
Meaningful (read: evil) silence.
And then:
"Mwa ha ha ha ha!"
"STOP TWIRLING YOUR IMAGINARY MUSTACHE!"
"It's dark, Miss Lange."
"Stop being such a baby, Albus."
"B-b-but-"
"You will talk like a normal, grown man or suffer the consequences."
A glint of anger flashes through her eyes; she is still the same old reputable, fearsome ninja – just a little bit more crazy now.
"You're worse than Stinky Snape."
Childishly whining and kicking at his shoes, the old wizard sneakily pulls out a lemon drop and is so close, so close to popping it into his mouth when the ninja catches him.
"Albus Dumbledore, stop eating candy this instant!"
"You can't tell me what to do; you are not my mother!"
A gasp; all is quiet.
"Look what you've done now, you fool – someone's heard us!" She hisses, quickly disappearing into one of the many doors; seconds pass while the man stands there, unsure of what to do. An annoyed groan rings out before a hand reaches out from the door to pull him in.
"Help! Help! Possessed hedges have come for me!"
"Shut. Up!" The woman hisses again; she's lost all of her patience now.
"Oh; it's just you."
"There is nothing just about me! And for that, you will have only plain old commercial green tea when I rule the world!"
"Nooo! Not commercial green tea!"
"Okay; restaurant-grade green tea." She sighs, giving in.
"Much better."
"Shh, someone's coming!"
"Miss Lange, Mr. Dumbledore – I understand that sometimes, in homes like these, it is quite normal for two patients to form a…well, special relationship."
The nurse is blushing and stammering and entirely out of place; maybe she's a candy striper, the older woman thinks. The elderly pair remains silent; the woman even has a very convincing look of innocence portrayed on her face – all thanks to her former occupation, of course.
The now highly-uncomfortable nurse slowly herds them back to the front desk which is illuminated by warm, welcoming lights.
"Now, how about I show you two back to your respective rooms and we all have breakfast together tomorrow morning?" Surely the emphasis on the word respective is not altogether necessary, is it? The elders are beginning to get annoyed; they struggle to maintain their blank, innocently confused expressions.
Shyly, hesitantly, they begin to nod. The nurse lets out a relieved sigh and starts to show them to their rooms, a small look of satisfaction playing on her face; a congratulatory smile and pat on the back for a job well done.
What she does not see, while she's all smug, is the little sign the two elders exchange behind her back. Oh yes, the little sign that says: regroup in an hour. Regroup, back at the same hallway, sixty minutes from now, where they'll start their escape plan all over again.
For the seventh time this particular night.
"FREEDOM!"
Together, they make a run for it: the big, white gates that somehow stand open tonight; ah, the lengths certain people will go to for a few lemon drops – who knew you could bribe a security guard with such easily-acquired goodies? (Maybe he just let them go after seeing them attempt to break free ELEVEN times tonight.)
In their current state, the journey towards freedom which would usually take a 3 minute stroll requires 10 minutes of running at their very fastest, but they suffer in silence, eyes on the prize.
Finally, they round the corner, leaving the looming gates of the…home behind them.
"Goodbye, wretched house of evil! We shall never return!"
She lets loose an evil cackle; success has gone straight to her head, despite the fact that they've only just accomplished phase one: break out.
"Until the next time a nurse finds us!"
His oblivious comment stops her in her tracks.
"Why must you always rain on my parade?"
"Oh look, it's raining!"
With a groan, she gives up. After all, this man has always been quite crazy. It's only a matter of time before she loses her own sanity.
(Of course, she doesn't realize that she's already lost it.)
(Her sanity, that is.)
They tip-toe through her old office; it's dusty and abandoned and no one's been in here for years and years and –
"Hetty?"
"Mr. Callen? What are you doing here?"
An amused smirk; arms crossed. "I work here, Hetty."
"You work here? People still come here?" Wonder is laced into her every word; what a foreign concept – to have left something behind and yet come back to see it still functioning!
"Yes, Hetty; I'm still here. Kenz is still here, too. Sam, Deeks, Eric, Nell…everyone's still here. But the question is, what are you doing here?" Again, an amused expression.
"WE HAVE COME TO PILLAGE AND PLUNDER AND SPREAD OUR TYRANNY!"
"Shh, Albus! We must not let the commoners know of our plans!"
"And who's this, Hetty?"
"I am Albus Dumbledore – greatest wizard to live! Ignore the Harry Potter nonsense, if you will. Boy-Who-Lived, my old, sagging arse! He has but a pretty scar and a group of friends and tons of red-heads next to him…" The last few sentences are uttered in a grudging mutter – obviously, someone's not pleased.
"O…kay." The blue-eyed agent says somewhat hesitantly. "So you guys are here to 'pillage, plunder and spread your tyranny', or in other words, take over the world?"
Silence.
A car zooms by, the radio playing loudly.
Silence. Again.
"Yes, I do believe that is all." She says, composed and calm. Her former agent nods.
"Tea, anyone?"
(She is so happy that thoughts of world domination are momentarily pushed to the very back of her mind.)
(Tea!)
(…)
(TEA!)
(Oh joy! Oh sweet rapture!)
When they finally manage to lose Callen and head off on their own, they silently take the stairs one at a time; fingers crossed, they hope to find the famed tech she has told him all about – the one who will help them achieve total domination.
With grins on their faces – their lit-up-like-children-on-Christmas-morning faces – they slowly scale the walls until they reach the Chamber, as he has taken to calling it after a bout of confusion between a certain chamber which housed a basil?
Basilk?
Basilisk! Aha!
Anyways – the Chamber is dark. And empty. And yes, just dark and empty.
Their faces fall like children on Christmas morning who have ripped apart all of their presents only to find hideous socks and lumpy sweaters knitted by a half-blind relative.
When more footfalls sound and echo across the empty building, they don't even bother to hide; the two just stand there, stunned into silence. Their plan; their carefully thought-out plan!
It failed them.
"Hetty? And erm…Albus, is it? Why don't I take you two back?"
Her response is meek; her voice small.
"Alright."
That night – or really, that early morning – they regroup one last time.
"We have failed!" He wails. "Now that no-good Potter will show up and take over the world and show off and this is it, this is the end of my dreams – no more lemon drop houses, lemon drop parties, lemon drop everything! Surely they'll have red GINGER-drops!"
"This is the end! I will have to go back to drinking that horrible thing they call tea, and no one will save me from the horrors of commercial tea, and no slaves of mine will attempt to source the most exotic tea bags for me!" She is absolutely horrified now; the old woman might just suffer from a mental breakdown any minute now.
"We must resort to blackmail."
This solemn suggestion comes after a full minute of anguished silence.
And then:
"No, we can't, you fool! We've tried! Everyone we knew is either dead or no longer influential! Our secrets have long been made known to the public! Our debts have been claimed; favors called in! Our tech failed us! Mr. Beale faile-"
"I know what to do now."
A slow grin spreads across her face as she interrupts herself mid-speech; the Cheshire grin is quite scary, actually. And there's this eerie music and it's dark and the winds are howlin- oh wait, that's just the music piping out from the front desk.
"You do?" He breathes in wonder.
"I do."
(Aww, damn – now we've got TWO Cheshire grins!)
Late that night – well, early that morning if you want to get technical, but really, there's no need to be so precise, grumpy! – while everyone else is fast asleep, she slowly, with shaking hands, dials a number she'd memorized some time ago.
One ring…two rings…three rin- And then someone picks up. And then she starts grinning that God-damned Cheshire grin again.
"Abigail, dear – how are you…"
Oh, Lord.
Now she's brought in Abby.
Hey, people!
Wow, it's been a while, huh?
So here it is: the second round of the SWBI has finally started. I hope you guys enjoyed this piece; I totally let the crazy take over. (It's the bunnies, I tell you! Their craziness lingers in my brain…it LINGERS.)
Stay tuned for another part of this little adventure tomorrow, in which the fair Abby joins our power-hungry duo!
In the meantime, why don't you let me know what you think of this? Leave me a review – that pretty little button is just begging to be pressed! Or maybe you have a message for me – one that you can send in a PM? You could Tweet me, if you'd like. And of course, for more details on this round of the SWBI, you can always head on over to my homepage, where I've posted all the titles, dates and summaries.
P.S: Should I write a 4th of July special? Go vote in my profile and don't forget to PM me your ideas!
E Salvatore,
July 2011.
The Screw Writer's Block Initiative (SWB Initiative) is open to everyone – and I mean everyone – who's ever won against writer's block. And if you're battling it right now…well, you've got perfect timing! Focus on a small plot bunny that just won't leave you alone and write a one-shot of your choice. Be sure to mention the Initiative or SWB Initiative. Come on, let's kick writer's block's a$$!