HYPERBOREAN INFAMY
A ROTG-DESPICABLE ME MASHUP BECAUSE GODDAMN I LOVE CROSSOVERS.
CHAPTER ONE: COFFEE AND COOKIES AND MOONS
It was a bright, happy day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, people were generally frolicking, and Nicolas Saint North was ready to chop someone's head off. Really, there was only so much frolicking a guy could watch before he gets irritated. The main street of the town he called home was abuzz with life, people crawling from the woodworking like cockroaches. With an irritated sigh the brown haired man forces his way through the crowds of city folk that stood between him and the sweet, delicious coffee that he needed to function.
Main Street was a quaint strip of two story buildings, without a single chain brand in sight. The town of Santoff Claussen prided itself on maintaining it's individuality, apparently, but North really couldn't give a damn. The man, who was pushing his thirties, was already a bitter old man at heart, and that was just the way he liked it.
Eventually he manages to get to the coffee shop, which is good. To his irritation he notes the line of at least eight people already there, which is bad. However, North is nothing if not prepared. With a downright evil snicker and a glint in his blue eyes, North reaches into his flowing red coat, a heirloom from his mother Russia, and pulls out a strange looking, silver gun. The machine whirs to life at the push of a button, occasionally making a worrying clunking noise every once and a while. North is quick to aim the device at the other patrons of Marie's Coffee and Snacks, and pulls the trigger without any fanfare.
A burst of energy shoots from the gun, hitting the man in front of North quickly and wrapping around him. The smoke quickly clears, and the man is frozen solid, the ice still cracking as it settles.
"Freeze ray!" Comes North's accented laugh, the Russian in his blood sounding through the air. The phrase is repeated seven more times as North repeats his performance, freezing everyone in line solid without a care. With a snicker North re-sheaths his freeze ray in his coat and strides up to the counter, where a shocked looking barista has frozen, pun intended, in fear, her perfectly manicured hand clutching a large coffee and a paper bag. North offers her his most charming smile as he plucks the bag and cup from her lax grasp, stopping only to drop a quarter into the tip jar as he leaves.
No one in the shop makes a sound, save for the tinkling of the bell as he slams the door behind him.
North's drive home is uneventful, as per usual. The Russian motors through the streets with his beloved beast of a vehicle, one he built himself, barreling over anyone who gets in his way as he sips his coffee happily. The car is a looming monstrosity of metal and glass, easily dwarfing anything else on the road, painted red and lovingly buffed to a shine.
North calls it the Sleigh.
With the practice of a master, North deftly backs the Sleigh into his garage. His home is a scary looking house, which is exactly why he had it built the way it was, with the architecture imitating that of his Russian home, tall bubbled spires clawing towards the sky. The house is a dark mahogany, the windows shuttered and ominously glaring out onto the quiet suburban street from across it's dead lawn. The white-picket-fence feel of the rest of the houses really helps to set North's home as different, and the brown haired man wouldn't have it any other way.
Gently swiping at his short, expertly trimmed brown beard to get rid of any excess coffee, North takes the front steps to the porch two at a time, itching to get back to his lab.
If you couldn't tell by this point, Nicolas Saint North wasn't exactly a run of the mill Joe.
No, North was a full fledged, evil-genius style villain, and damn proud of it.
The interior of the house is akin to the exterior, full of weapons and newspaper clippings, some from Russia and some from America. Maces and swords decorate the walls, and the corpses of rare animals were his furniture pieces. Medieval torture devices, a relic of when he had robbed a string of high-end museums just because he could line a few of the emptier walls. The center point of the entire front room was a massive TV screen, at least the size of North's wing span, meaning to say frigging huge. Across from that, set tastefully into a little nook was a couch made from what looked like a mixture between a komodo dragon and a lion. North wasn't sure what animal it was, only that it was rare and he had shot it.
And that there was an elf curled up asleep on it.
North winced at the thought of waking up the vicious little creature, disregarding the fact that it barely reached his shin. The elf, North knows, has razor sharp teeth, super strength and speed, and an unsustainable blood lust. It had come from a burst of inspiration after watching a movie that had included a cuddly little alien who tried to find a family despite being built to slaughter everything.
The experiment, despite being a good idea on paper, had failed, and had resulted in the demonic thing that was currently taking up the best spot on the couch. Which North wanted to sit on. Great.
Wincing slightly, North stands on one foot, raising the other to softly nudge the sleeping elf to one side of the couch, relaxing only when the elf hissed slightly before going back into a deeper sleep.
Highly pleased with himself, North settles onto the couch, cracking open the paper bag from the shop and delighting in pulling a chocolate chip cookie from it. His favorite, how ever did they guess? Snickering himself, North takes the first bite, and chews happily, only to be rudely interrupted by the screeching of the doorbell ringing through the lofty house.
With a groan North stalks back to the door, leaving his cookie behind as he grabs a sword from the wall and glares through the peep hole, hefting the weight of the metal onto one shoulder. You never could be too careful, in villainy.
He's disappointed, unfortunately, as there isn't anyone worthy of a good death match on the other side of the door. A head of white hair and blue eyes peek back through the peep hole. A kid.
Ew.
The boy can't be older than ten, with disgusting wide and innocent blue eyes and a face that hasn't quite lost all it's baby fat. North watches as the boy rings the doorbell again, and again, and again, before he snaps.
"Vhat do you want!?" He shouts, half ready to open the door and chop the kid in half for wasting his time. The kid perks up at North's voice, and he puts on a gross little smile. North can tell, by that smile alone, that this kid is trying to sell something.
"Uh, yeah, hi?" The boy says loudly, holding up a box of what looks to be cookies to the peephole, "I'm from Mr. Adlers's Home for Orphaned Children? And I'm selling cookies so we can have a better future, or whatever. Want some?" The box does a little dance as the kid waves it around.
"Nyet." North shouts.
"Aw, come on! It's for a good cause?" The boy shouts, pouting.
"Nyet, I'm not even home."
Blue eyes scrunch up in confusion. "But I'm talking to you right now?"
"Wrong, zis is automated recording."
"Then how are you responding to everything I say?"
"Auto. Mated. Recording."
At that the child just glares right into the peephole and drops the cookie box back into a blue wagon that North had failed to notice before. "A simple no would'a sufficed." The brat grumbles, jumping down the stairs and beginning to pull the wagon away. North's just about to go back to his breakfast when he sees a sudden flash of white hair and blue hoodie rush back up the stairs, and a shoed foot kicks the door separating them. North can feel the door slam into his face as it rattles on it's hinges, and he doesn't have to look to know the shit eating grin that must be crossing the kid's face.
By the time North's done rubbing his abused nose and looks back through the peephole the boy's gone, already walking down the street and out in the open where North couldn't get a good shot at him. Dammit.
Grumbling about the idiocy of children North goes back to the couch, the siren call of his cookie calling him. However, when he gets back he's met with an ominous scene. The bag, once holding chocolate chip goodness has been displaced, though that's not what makes North's gut sink.
The elf is gone.
North shudders slightly and goes to pick up the bag, movements slow and calculated.
Not slow enough, it seems, as the elf comes screaming out from nowhere and latches onto North's arm with it's hooked teeth ow. The brown haired man lets out a very manly screech and flails his arm with agitation, trying to dislodge the little monster as it hisses and spits from it's perch.
A ringing comes from the TV, and North is just barely able to get his twitching arms under control in time to turn with a small amount of decorum to the screen. Where the TV had once been off it had been switched on, and showed the face of a twenty-something, tanned, grey haired man, who sported a annoyed look that North knew was almost a permanent resident on the man's face.
"Hello Bunny!" North says happily, trying to seem as collected as he can while having his arm gnawed by a demon-elf. "How goes eet in ze lab?"
"G'day North," Bunnymund replies with a heavy Australian accent, "Th'lab's fine, but we got a bit of a problem."
"Vhat? Vhat is problem?" North asks with confusion.
"Apparently someone stole th' pyramids while we weren't lookin'." Bunny says with a growl. "They're callin' it the crime a the century! We've been upstaged!"
North gasps, outright offended that he's been knocked from his perch of best thief in the world so easily, and holds up a hand to Bunnymund, stopping what was surely going to become a long winded rant. "I vill be right down." He says, flicking the TV off with determination and striding over to a chair that had been carved from the body of one of the final white rhinos to ever exist. With a flick of his wrist North reveals a secret panel that had been built into the arm of the chair and hits a single red button. The elf lets out a squeal and lets go, running as the ground begins to shake.
His home begins to change around him, floorboards and decorations shifting and moving to reveal an elevator that would be invisible to the naked eye. The seat of his chair shifts, rolling quickly towards the elevator, which descends as soon as North is in place. The ride down is quick, the elevator descending almost eight stories in half a minute. It hits the ground with a sharp thunk, and North steps out with a purpose.
His teammates are all in a flurry, and North takes a second to watch them panic. Bunnymund, as expected, is ranting, his Australian accent cutting through the air almost as much as North's Russian one would. The other two occupants of the room, though quieter, are no less attention-drawing. Toothiana, a woman of Indian descent and around twenty years of age, zips though the air with nothing but a pair of electronic wings holding her aloft in a flurry of colours from their membranes and her clothes both. She speaks in a frenzied way, much like her flight pattern, never staying on one topic, or in once place, for very long.
Their other teammate, a man dressed all in yellow, is calmer than everyone in the room. He watches with a placated expression, contented to let his team do the freaking out for him. Sanderson, or Sandy, was hard to excite, and was the most grounded, which was good considering the need for a stable hand when working with nuclear explosives as Sandy was prone to do.
"Ah, my friends!" North calls. Tooth skids to a mid-air stop, turning to North and asking questions at a mild a minute.
"Who stole the pyramids? What do they want? How did they pull that off? How are we going to top this? What do we do what do we do what do we do-"
"TOOTH!" Aster shouts, "Let th' man talk!"
She has the knowledge to look sheepish. "Sorry. I'm just surprised."
"Ve all are." North says, nodding. "But pyramids may be good heist, but what I have planned is better."
Even Sandy perks up at that. North had been keeping this plan on the down-low lately, waiting for the right time to reveal it. If this wasn't the right time, then North didn't know what was.
"We may have had a simple year," North continues, glad that his team is giving him their undivided attention. He didn't want to have to go over this again, even as he continued, "And I know that we haven't been extremely busy, but I have plans for the biggest heist that anyone has ever seen, heard, or thought of! It is something so grand, so amazing zat nothing vill ever top it!"
Their excited faces were great, especially as North paused for dramatic effect to make it all the more suspenseful.
"Ve." He says quietly, letting his voice build, "Are going to steal...THE MOON!"
All three of his companions let out a suitably dramatic gasp at that, the possibilities running thorough their minds at a mile a minute. North allows himself to bask in their awe. This was why he was the leader, the idea man, because he had the best ideas.
"Once we have ze Moon," He continues once the murmuring calmed down, "We can ask for any ransom, and it will be payed, and we vill go down in history as the grandest thieves in the world!"
Tooth lets out a cheer, already blabbering at Sandy all the things they should ask for, throwing herself 100% into the plan. Sandy mirrors her excitement, mutely signing what he thinks they should do to get a hold of the Moon in the first place.
Bunnymund is the only one who doesn't seen excited as he pulls North close by his brown beard.
"Ah've been crunching our budget," The grey haired Australian says quietly, "And the thing is, we have no budget. Ahm not a miracle worker, North, it can't be done on our savings."
"Bah, is fine." North laughs, "I vill just get another loan from ze bank, zey love me over zhere!"
Bunny doesn't look convinced, but shrugs all the same, trusting his leader and heading off to corral the other two before they got out of hand. North laughs nervously, hoping that his scheme will work. The entire operation was hinging on that funding.
It was just a matter of getting it.
(THIS IS A LINE, ISN'T IT BEAUTIFUL?)
It was raining when Jack Frost finally finished his section of the city for cookie sales, and the boy was shivering profusely as he walked through the darkened city streets. Pulling his hood higher over his head the nine year old boy curled in on himself rushing the final few steps towards the place he called home, dragging his blue wagon behind him.
Mr. Abbot's Home for Orphaned Children wasn't an inherently scary looking place. In fact, when Jack had first been dropped off it had looked rather nice from the outside, the building painted with murals of rainbows and flowers and children playing. The inside, however, left much to be desired, not to mention the demon of a man that ran the place.
Jack did his best to shake off the worst of the rain that he'd been soaked with, Adler so hated dirty floors, and walked up to the front desk, where a stocky, angry looking man sat typing away at his computer. A line of yellow caution tape drew a very solid line in front of the desk, and Jack was sure not to cross it in the slightest. He kept his blue eyes on trained on the ground, silently waiting for Adler to be finished with his typing before saying anything.
"Hello again, Jack." Adler finally says in a slightly dangerous voice. Jack flinches under the man's beady glare, the eyes two pin holes in flabby canvas, as Adler continues. "And how did we do about meeting our quota?"
Jack gulps, and pulls a thin clip board from his pocket, listing the sales as quickly as possible.
"Well, I've sold eighteen boxes of Mini-Mints, twenty boxes of Vanilla Swirls, forty boxes of Coconutties, and ten boxes of Chocolate Fudgies..." He trails off, feeling the glare intensify.
"See," Adler hisses, standing from his desk. Jack curls into himself slightly, already anticipating what happens next. "You say that like it's a good thing. But we know that your... oh, what was it that you do?"
"Skating, uh, sir." Jack says, choking up slightly as he shakes in his worn hoodie.
"Ah, right, your skating costs quite a pretty penny. You know that, right Jack?"
"Yessir."
"And you love it so, and it would just break my heart to take you away from it because you hadn't met your quota. Not to mention the time you'd have to spend in the box of shame, right?"
Jack outwardly shudders at the mention of the box, which was actually the hall closet. Jack had spent enough time locked away, alone, in the dark to never want to go back.
"Yessir." Is all he's able to choke out past the lump in his throat.
"Good boy. You still have tomorrow, I suppose. Now go on, go clean something."
Jack nods, still staring at the garishly tiled floor through tear blurred eyes.
"Yessir."
A/N And there's chapter one! I have no idea where this idea came from or why it started, but I did it and now it's happening. LORD HELP ME. Thanks for reading, if you've gotten this far, and I'd love to hear any comments/concerns you might have! Thanks again!