Title: IWHYH Sequel - Supergenius Criminal Mastermind vs. Big Block of
Concrete
Spoilers: Through the 7-1-02 episode, Static.
Author: The Mad Fangirl
Archive: Wherever, but let me know.
Disclaimer: The characters herein are owned by other people and I make no money from their shameless exploitation. Author's note: I wanted to stop but the voices from the TV wouldn't let me.
* * *
An exhausted Egon Spengler sagged against the wall, thrower as depleted as he himself. He wiped his forehead with a sweaty hand and surveyed the devastation. Draperies hung in tatters, expensive furniture sliced or toasted. Ian 1 and Ian 3 were helping a dazed and rather singed Ian 2 to his feet. For once, Ian 2.0 wasn't smiling, though he seemed to be making the attempt. Peter held two traps by the tail - one containing whatever they'd pulled out of Ian 2, and the other containing Irons' hand.
Sara flopped next to him, gauntlet pulling back to an open glove, though not quite a bracelet yet. "You guys do this every day?"
"And twice on Tuesdays," Venkman said, grinning. "Was it good for you too?" Pez shot him one of her wide-eyed looks, the one that said, 'careful, you're skirting the edge of loser territory.' He was skilled at reading such glances, and smiled more softly to defuse it. Thus, he missed the death glare coming from Ians 1,2, and 3 at once. It was a good thing, too, because the look itself might have done for him right there. Egon caught the edge, though, and cleared his throat nervously.
"Well, our work here is done," he said. "I would like to return and check this house for hot spots later. I'm getting some odd blips from the fireplace. Would next week work?"
"Certainly," Ian 1 said. "Next week should be fine."
As the Ghostbusters reached the door, Peter dared the Wrath of Ian again, handing Pez his card. "How about you? Next week?"
"Maybe," she said, smiling, her alto voice warm. "I'll let you know." She left too, lingering in the hall for her partner.
Ian 3, the one of the brothers with the most legitimate shot, sank against a wall, pressed his forehead into his hands and moaned. "Unworthy man after unworthy man! Why must I endure such torment!?"
Danny took a long look at him. "You don't know torment, my friend."
"Are you kidding? If you look up 'torment' in the dictionary, you'll find my picture by the entry. Literally; Father glued it in there as an object lesson."
"Uh-huh. And how long have you known Pez?"
"Lifetime upon lifetime, age upon age, I have-"
"Besides that."
"Perhaps two months."
"Okay. Now, hypothetically, let's say you were her partner for most of her career as a detective, and most of yours, too. That's a huge chunk of your adult life. You eat with Pez, you drink with Pez, you ride next to Pez, you work out with Pez, and for just about all that time, *you're married to someone else.* Now that's torment."
"I begin to see."
"Thought you might, Grasshopper." Danny half-bowed and ducked out of the room, muttering, "I need a vacation. A nice long tropical vacation. With my *wife*...."
~~~~TIME PASSES~~~~ ~~~~OKAY, A WEEK. ~~~~ ~~~~WELL, CLOSER TO A FORTNIGHT, REALLY. ~~~~ ~~~~ALL RIGHT! SOMEWHERE AROUND 12 DAYS, TO BE SCRUPULOUSLY HONEST. NOW WILL YOU QUIT BADGERING ME!? FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, PEOPLE, THIS IS PARODY! I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO PAY TOO MUCH ATTENTION TO THIS STUFF!~~~~
The Witchblade gleamed, elegant on Sara's wrist. She sat at a quiet table in a small Italian restaurant that she'd selected. Across from her sat one Dr. Peter Venkman, Ghostbuster. The "Doctor" part was important, since she was angling for some free advice from a shrink that wouldn't automatically scribble "Just plain nuts" on his notepad.
"You sure nobody followed you here? Like, maybe, oh... Nottingham? He's weird about me dating; I think it's in the stalker's manual." She produced a small red book with "Ex Libris Nottingham" written on the spine. "See?"
"Would I see him if he had?"
She leafed though the book. "Doubt it."
The waiter brought garlic simmering in olive oil, and a fresh loaf of Italian bread, and once he left, Sara decided to skip right to the free medical advice. "Look, I read up on you a little," she confided. "Your doctorate's in psychology, right?"
"Um, yeah...why..."
Sara leaned in close, whispering over their glasses of Chianti. "I...need some help. I hear voices."
Peter gazed earnestly back. "Okay, now, this is important. Are the voices coming from your bracelet or your fridge?"
"What?"
"Are the voices coming from your bracelet or your fridge?"
"Um, my bracelet, I think."
"Well, you should be all right then. I mean, I looked it up in 'Who's Who and What's That' - that thing's supposed to talk, right? So that's fine."
Sara leaned back, relieved. "Whew."
"Okay, but look, if they start coming from your fridge, you call us. Do not pass go, just back away slowly and grab the phone. Trust me on this, nothing but evil ever came out of the fridge. Or the TV. Talking TVs are generally bad news."
"Yeah. I got another shrink in the cooler that'd tell you the same thing."
"Hunh. Because I just got it from Poltergeist, but I figured, what the heck."
* * *
Meanwhile, back at the mansion, Egon had not quite coincidentally chosen today to sweep for PKE traces; telling each Nottingham that he needed them in residence as a favor to Peter. The psychologist could be annoying, but he was one of Egon's oldest friends, and Egon was bound to prevent him from getting intimately acquainted with either a katana or a broadsword.
Now the blonde physicist staggered back into the den, sitting down hard. Ian 3 noticed his complexion, paler than usual, and handed him some water, inquiring, "What's wrong?"
"Ah. Well, ah..." He took a swallow then continued. "I was following a rather strong trail of psychokinetic energy, and...are you aware that you have a dead woman posed on a couch in a large walk-in freezer?"
"Oh. You mean Mom?"
Egon drained the water. "Do you have anything stronger?"
* * *
Sara finished her first glass of wine as the waiter brought their pasta. The dinner conversation was going better than she'd anticipated; she and Peter had a lot more in common than she'd thought. She tried a stumper. "You ever had someone who seems to be really into you suddenly get possessed and try to take you out?"
"Her name was Dana. Or Zool, depending on when I was asking."
"You're kidding!" Then, "You're not kidding, are you?"
"She turned into a big dog and tried to eat me. It wasn't pretty. She got better, but the magic was kinda gone. And there was an incident involving a lot of marshmallow cream, but I'm not sure I should go there in polite company."
"Why do I get the feeling that your life might actually make mine seem tame?"
"Dunno. Maybe it's just the presentation."
* * *
As Egon concluded a very rare indulgence in an expensive German beer, the original Nottingham entered and approached his youngest brother. "Let me see your hands."
Reluctantly, Three displayed the limbs. "Other side," and he flipped them, displaying a wide bandage across one palm. 3.0 sighed. "Clone-boy squealed, didn't he?"
"Never you mind," Ian 1 replied. "Now, what did you do?"
"...glassinmyhan..." the other mumbled.
"I couldn't hear you."
"I crushed glass in my hand." Ian 1 shook his head as 3.0 continued. "I thought it would indicate my commitment."
"Commitment might seem to be indicated, yes," Egon murmured.
"Pardon?"
"Nothing."
"Look," Ian 1 said, "I'm the last person who should be saying this, but maybe it's finally time to move on. For example, I've seen that woman I met at Conchobar's party twice now."
"Not the psychotic clown-girl?"
"No, she's happily stalking our brother. It's actually quite amusing to watch."
As if on cue, there came a faint cry of "Puddin!" and a decidedly un- masculine shriek, followed by the footsteps of someone running and someone giving chase. Egon decided to ignore it.
"But after our Lady, how could you possibly find anyone who could compare..."
"Amanda has bested me with a blade, and she's actually around 1000 years old. Maybe she hasn't been constantly reborn, but there's something to be said for continuity. And, since she likes dark, brooding, lurking types, I'm actually finally getting l-" Egon coughed and cut him off. "Oh. Sorry. Too much information?"
"Perhaps just a tad." Egon rubbed his temples and went to check the fireplace again.
* * *
The tiramisu had gone down really well. Pez and Peter were both fairly stuffed, so they decided to walk it off before getting back to Ecto-1, the Ghostbusters' converted hearse. Plus, there was still some time left before Peter needed to go pick Egon up at Irons' mansion.
"You ever fight any demons?" Pez asked.
"Sure, a few. If they come through a gate, we got the option of crossing the streams to push 'em back. Otherwise we gotta get creative. You?"
"I think, maybe, but it was last year - this year - whatever. We're writing over it now, is the thing, so it's kinda hazy. Anyway, if I remember right, I just gave him a good throttling."
"Hmm. We oughta try that."
Then the area started looking very recently familiar to Sara. She began to sense echoes of the battle not long past, her conflict with the Black Dragons. If she listened, she could almost hear it still...
"Hey, did you hear something?" Peter asked.
Sara's eyes widened. She paused, listening with the advanced senses of a bonded Wielder.
"I'm not dead!" a deep, regal voice proclaimed. "I'm badly bruised and I think my leg is broken, but I'm otherwise all right! Can someone help me up?"
"It almost sounds like a voice," Venkman said.
"Hello? Supergenius criminal mastermind trapped under big block of concrete! Little help here?"
"You must be hearing things," Sara replied, and turned them back toward Ecto.
* * *
"There was definitely a recent manifestation here," Egon said, finishing his readings on the fireplace and reporting to Ians 1 and 3, #2 presumably still running for his life from an infatuated Harley Quinn. "I'd recommend not burning anything here at all; the elemental fuel will only make future manifestations more likely. If you must, I suggest avoiding particularly charged materials such as rowan and yew." For PKE measurement purposes, a fairly mundane oak blaze crackled in the hearth.
Ian 1 nodded. Ian 3 was staring at the bandage on his hand, and his eldest brother noticed.
"It's just so frustrating!" 3 exclaimed to that sympathetic, inquiring gaze. "She won't listen, and it just...ah!" He clenched his un-bandaged hand and pressed the fist to his forehead.
"Well, have you tried just telling her how you feel?" Egon asked, placing his PKE meter back on his belt.
"I couldn't possibly..."
"Well, then, just tell us," Ian 1 suggested. "Sit by the fireplace and pretend you're talking to her. Don't try to project to her; you can do that later when you're sure of what you wish to say." Egon nodded encouragingly.
"All right." Nottingham the Third took a deep breath. "I'll give it a try." He stared into the flames, and then stood.
"Sara, you have got to be the most pigheaded, stubborn woman in New York, and that's saying something. I did everything but hold you by the shoulders and yell, "Hey, look, evil spirits are trying to get the Witchblade! So, if you feel a sudden impulse to get rid of it, it's probably the bad guys! In fact, anything bad that happens to you today is the bad guys!" Instead, I hinted so you'd have to think about it, and because I thought saying it straight out sounded really stupid, but you just decided to use that as an excuse to ignore me. And now that they know you don't ever *listen* to anybody, the evil spirits are going to go straight for your brain!"
He paused, gasping for breath. "Too blunt?"
"Maybe a little," Egon replied.
"I'll work on it." His brother wrapped an encouraging arm around his shoulders.
* * * Later that evening, Peter picked Egon up at the mansion gates. The blonde physicist looked slightly dazed.
"You okay, Egon?"
"Yes, Peter. But those are some very strange people. And please, do not even inquire about the freezer."
"Didja get into the temporal whatsis?"
"Temporal duplication? No, actually. I'll have to meet with them again later, when there's less...drama. Although sometimes it seems that that's all they know, so I don't hold out a great deal of hope."
"Well, turns out Pez and I have a lot in common. I had a great..."
"Please, Peter, no details. What I don't know, a Nottingham cannot torture out of me later."
"Understood, big guy. Understood."
* * * END (for now) TMF
Spoilers: Through the 7-1-02 episode, Static.
Author: The Mad Fangirl
Archive: Wherever, but let me know.
Disclaimer: The characters herein are owned by other people and I make no money from their shameless exploitation. Author's note: I wanted to stop but the voices from the TV wouldn't let me.
* * *
An exhausted Egon Spengler sagged against the wall, thrower as depleted as he himself. He wiped his forehead with a sweaty hand and surveyed the devastation. Draperies hung in tatters, expensive furniture sliced or toasted. Ian 1 and Ian 3 were helping a dazed and rather singed Ian 2 to his feet. For once, Ian 2.0 wasn't smiling, though he seemed to be making the attempt. Peter held two traps by the tail - one containing whatever they'd pulled out of Ian 2, and the other containing Irons' hand.
Sara flopped next to him, gauntlet pulling back to an open glove, though not quite a bracelet yet. "You guys do this every day?"
"And twice on Tuesdays," Venkman said, grinning. "Was it good for you too?" Pez shot him one of her wide-eyed looks, the one that said, 'careful, you're skirting the edge of loser territory.' He was skilled at reading such glances, and smiled more softly to defuse it. Thus, he missed the death glare coming from Ians 1,2, and 3 at once. It was a good thing, too, because the look itself might have done for him right there. Egon caught the edge, though, and cleared his throat nervously.
"Well, our work here is done," he said. "I would like to return and check this house for hot spots later. I'm getting some odd blips from the fireplace. Would next week work?"
"Certainly," Ian 1 said. "Next week should be fine."
As the Ghostbusters reached the door, Peter dared the Wrath of Ian again, handing Pez his card. "How about you? Next week?"
"Maybe," she said, smiling, her alto voice warm. "I'll let you know." She left too, lingering in the hall for her partner.
Ian 3, the one of the brothers with the most legitimate shot, sank against a wall, pressed his forehead into his hands and moaned. "Unworthy man after unworthy man! Why must I endure such torment!?"
Danny took a long look at him. "You don't know torment, my friend."
"Are you kidding? If you look up 'torment' in the dictionary, you'll find my picture by the entry. Literally; Father glued it in there as an object lesson."
"Uh-huh. And how long have you known Pez?"
"Lifetime upon lifetime, age upon age, I have-"
"Besides that."
"Perhaps two months."
"Okay. Now, hypothetically, let's say you were her partner for most of her career as a detective, and most of yours, too. That's a huge chunk of your adult life. You eat with Pez, you drink with Pez, you ride next to Pez, you work out with Pez, and for just about all that time, *you're married to someone else.* Now that's torment."
"I begin to see."
"Thought you might, Grasshopper." Danny half-bowed and ducked out of the room, muttering, "I need a vacation. A nice long tropical vacation. With my *wife*...."
~~~~TIME PASSES~~~~ ~~~~OKAY, A WEEK. ~~~~ ~~~~WELL, CLOSER TO A FORTNIGHT, REALLY. ~~~~ ~~~~ALL RIGHT! SOMEWHERE AROUND 12 DAYS, TO BE SCRUPULOUSLY HONEST. NOW WILL YOU QUIT BADGERING ME!? FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, PEOPLE, THIS IS PARODY! I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO PAY TOO MUCH ATTENTION TO THIS STUFF!~~~~
The Witchblade gleamed, elegant on Sara's wrist. She sat at a quiet table in a small Italian restaurant that she'd selected. Across from her sat one Dr. Peter Venkman, Ghostbuster. The "Doctor" part was important, since she was angling for some free advice from a shrink that wouldn't automatically scribble "Just plain nuts" on his notepad.
"You sure nobody followed you here? Like, maybe, oh... Nottingham? He's weird about me dating; I think it's in the stalker's manual." She produced a small red book with "Ex Libris Nottingham" written on the spine. "See?"
"Would I see him if he had?"
She leafed though the book. "Doubt it."
The waiter brought garlic simmering in olive oil, and a fresh loaf of Italian bread, and once he left, Sara decided to skip right to the free medical advice. "Look, I read up on you a little," she confided. "Your doctorate's in psychology, right?"
"Um, yeah...why..."
Sara leaned in close, whispering over their glasses of Chianti. "I...need some help. I hear voices."
Peter gazed earnestly back. "Okay, now, this is important. Are the voices coming from your bracelet or your fridge?"
"What?"
"Are the voices coming from your bracelet or your fridge?"
"Um, my bracelet, I think."
"Well, you should be all right then. I mean, I looked it up in 'Who's Who and What's That' - that thing's supposed to talk, right? So that's fine."
Sara leaned back, relieved. "Whew."
"Okay, but look, if they start coming from your fridge, you call us. Do not pass go, just back away slowly and grab the phone. Trust me on this, nothing but evil ever came out of the fridge. Or the TV. Talking TVs are generally bad news."
"Yeah. I got another shrink in the cooler that'd tell you the same thing."
"Hunh. Because I just got it from Poltergeist, but I figured, what the heck."
* * *
Meanwhile, back at the mansion, Egon had not quite coincidentally chosen today to sweep for PKE traces; telling each Nottingham that he needed them in residence as a favor to Peter. The psychologist could be annoying, but he was one of Egon's oldest friends, and Egon was bound to prevent him from getting intimately acquainted with either a katana or a broadsword.
Now the blonde physicist staggered back into the den, sitting down hard. Ian 3 noticed his complexion, paler than usual, and handed him some water, inquiring, "What's wrong?"
"Ah. Well, ah..." He took a swallow then continued. "I was following a rather strong trail of psychokinetic energy, and...are you aware that you have a dead woman posed on a couch in a large walk-in freezer?"
"Oh. You mean Mom?"
Egon drained the water. "Do you have anything stronger?"
* * *
Sara finished her first glass of wine as the waiter brought their pasta. The dinner conversation was going better than she'd anticipated; she and Peter had a lot more in common than she'd thought. She tried a stumper. "You ever had someone who seems to be really into you suddenly get possessed and try to take you out?"
"Her name was Dana. Or Zool, depending on when I was asking."
"You're kidding!" Then, "You're not kidding, are you?"
"She turned into a big dog and tried to eat me. It wasn't pretty. She got better, but the magic was kinda gone. And there was an incident involving a lot of marshmallow cream, but I'm not sure I should go there in polite company."
"Why do I get the feeling that your life might actually make mine seem tame?"
"Dunno. Maybe it's just the presentation."
* * *
As Egon concluded a very rare indulgence in an expensive German beer, the original Nottingham entered and approached his youngest brother. "Let me see your hands."
Reluctantly, Three displayed the limbs. "Other side," and he flipped them, displaying a wide bandage across one palm. 3.0 sighed. "Clone-boy squealed, didn't he?"
"Never you mind," Ian 1 replied. "Now, what did you do?"
"...glassinmyhan..." the other mumbled.
"I couldn't hear you."
"I crushed glass in my hand." Ian 1 shook his head as 3.0 continued. "I thought it would indicate my commitment."
"Commitment might seem to be indicated, yes," Egon murmured.
"Pardon?"
"Nothing."
"Look," Ian 1 said, "I'm the last person who should be saying this, but maybe it's finally time to move on. For example, I've seen that woman I met at Conchobar's party twice now."
"Not the psychotic clown-girl?"
"No, she's happily stalking our brother. It's actually quite amusing to watch."
As if on cue, there came a faint cry of "Puddin!" and a decidedly un- masculine shriek, followed by the footsteps of someone running and someone giving chase. Egon decided to ignore it.
"But after our Lady, how could you possibly find anyone who could compare..."
"Amanda has bested me with a blade, and she's actually around 1000 years old. Maybe she hasn't been constantly reborn, but there's something to be said for continuity. And, since she likes dark, brooding, lurking types, I'm actually finally getting l-" Egon coughed and cut him off. "Oh. Sorry. Too much information?"
"Perhaps just a tad." Egon rubbed his temples and went to check the fireplace again.
* * *
The tiramisu had gone down really well. Pez and Peter were both fairly stuffed, so they decided to walk it off before getting back to Ecto-1, the Ghostbusters' converted hearse. Plus, there was still some time left before Peter needed to go pick Egon up at Irons' mansion.
"You ever fight any demons?" Pez asked.
"Sure, a few. If they come through a gate, we got the option of crossing the streams to push 'em back. Otherwise we gotta get creative. You?"
"I think, maybe, but it was last year - this year - whatever. We're writing over it now, is the thing, so it's kinda hazy. Anyway, if I remember right, I just gave him a good throttling."
"Hmm. We oughta try that."
Then the area started looking very recently familiar to Sara. She began to sense echoes of the battle not long past, her conflict with the Black Dragons. If she listened, she could almost hear it still...
"Hey, did you hear something?" Peter asked.
Sara's eyes widened. She paused, listening with the advanced senses of a bonded Wielder.
"I'm not dead!" a deep, regal voice proclaimed. "I'm badly bruised and I think my leg is broken, but I'm otherwise all right! Can someone help me up?"
"It almost sounds like a voice," Venkman said.
"Hello? Supergenius criminal mastermind trapped under big block of concrete! Little help here?"
"You must be hearing things," Sara replied, and turned them back toward Ecto.
* * *
"There was definitely a recent manifestation here," Egon said, finishing his readings on the fireplace and reporting to Ians 1 and 3, #2 presumably still running for his life from an infatuated Harley Quinn. "I'd recommend not burning anything here at all; the elemental fuel will only make future manifestations more likely. If you must, I suggest avoiding particularly charged materials such as rowan and yew." For PKE measurement purposes, a fairly mundane oak blaze crackled in the hearth.
Ian 1 nodded. Ian 3 was staring at the bandage on his hand, and his eldest brother noticed.
"It's just so frustrating!" 3 exclaimed to that sympathetic, inquiring gaze. "She won't listen, and it just...ah!" He clenched his un-bandaged hand and pressed the fist to his forehead.
"Well, have you tried just telling her how you feel?" Egon asked, placing his PKE meter back on his belt.
"I couldn't possibly..."
"Well, then, just tell us," Ian 1 suggested. "Sit by the fireplace and pretend you're talking to her. Don't try to project to her; you can do that later when you're sure of what you wish to say." Egon nodded encouragingly.
"All right." Nottingham the Third took a deep breath. "I'll give it a try." He stared into the flames, and then stood.
"Sara, you have got to be the most pigheaded, stubborn woman in New York, and that's saying something. I did everything but hold you by the shoulders and yell, "Hey, look, evil spirits are trying to get the Witchblade! So, if you feel a sudden impulse to get rid of it, it's probably the bad guys! In fact, anything bad that happens to you today is the bad guys!" Instead, I hinted so you'd have to think about it, and because I thought saying it straight out sounded really stupid, but you just decided to use that as an excuse to ignore me. And now that they know you don't ever *listen* to anybody, the evil spirits are going to go straight for your brain!"
He paused, gasping for breath. "Too blunt?"
"Maybe a little," Egon replied.
"I'll work on it." His brother wrapped an encouraging arm around his shoulders.
* * * Later that evening, Peter picked Egon up at the mansion gates. The blonde physicist looked slightly dazed.
"You okay, Egon?"
"Yes, Peter. But those are some very strange people. And please, do not even inquire about the freezer."
"Didja get into the temporal whatsis?"
"Temporal duplication? No, actually. I'll have to meet with them again later, when there's less...drama. Although sometimes it seems that that's all they know, so I don't hold out a great deal of hope."
"Well, turns out Pez and I have a lot in common. I had a great..."
"Please, Peter, no details. What I don't know, a Nottingham cannot torture out of me later."
"Understood, big guy. Understood."
* * * END (for now) TMF