Pimpin' Peace and Perversion
An IDA Adventure of XXX Proportions
Starring everyone's Favorite Pimp, the Black Baron!
Prologue: Bourbon Street
If you were to ask anyone who has been to Base Prime 'what is the premiere place to see things and have a good time?', they would point you to Bourbon Street in Hunter's Gambit. While others would suggest the Void Vineyard, the bar located at the prestigious Hotel Nebula, or the Treble Clef Theater, the grand music hall featuring outstanding performances daily, the real party center is Bourbon Street, a massive strip mall filled with various food stands, bars and restaurants, clubs for all goers, and has the best night life in all of Base Prime. If you want to go out with buddies, get a guy or girl, get absolutely wasted and wake up in someone else's bed with a hangover and someone's arm slung around you after a night you can't remember, Bourbon Street is the place to go. Granted, like everywhere else in Base Prime, Bourbon Street is monitored by one of the IDA's minor groups, more specifically the Nightlife Lords.
The Nightlife Lords, who are in no way just a group of vampires (despite one of the larger goth clubs being run by an 'in-crowd' vampire), consist of various members of societal ill-reputewho run different sections of Bourbon Street's many aspects, and many of them being partially respected (yet also greatly feared) residents of the Street itself, their names being so common, you'd be hard pressed to find someone who didn't know their names. Every party goer and late-night clubber knew how Vinyl Scratch and DJ Professor K ran the remix airwaves, all the drunkards and barflies knew how Gragas and Mr. Fizz kept the beer tabs running, anyone who crossed the criminal families feared the acts that Don Weaso and Sir Crocodile would inflict upon them, and of course, every patron of a fine escort for a night would know and praise the name of the Black Baron.
Now the Baron is special. This is a man, a man who has no common decency, is incredibly rude, lewd, incredibly racist, foul-mouthed, even fouler tempered, mildly unpleasant to be around, and one of the two best pimps in all of Base Prime. Not to mention he isn't even a real Baron… or even black, for that matter. But for some reason, the Black Baron, former Champion of DeathWatch turned Bounty Hunter, is one of the most highly respected members of the Nightlife Lords, constantly receiving waves and offers of booze (and even a few women throwing themselves at him) whenever he took a stroll down Bourbon Street, always out and about with a massive smile on his face. A true enigma, yet nobody really wanted to question it. Whenever the Black Baron and his girl, Mathilda, were out, everyone was going to have a good time.
It was on one afternoon, just a few hours shy of dinnertime, when Bourbon Street was just about ready to get things stared. Vendors were just starting to open up their stands, DJs were getting their music selections ready for the oncoming party storm, the barkeeps were checking their reserves and stock, and of course, everyone was waiting for the man of the hour to get things kicking. One of the many rules of being a Nightlife Lord is that, on rotation, you are required to announce the start of Bourbon Street's nightlife hours. And this week's honor went to the Black Baron. Nobody could see hide or hair of the Bishop of Blood and Carnage anywhere, and the opening ceremonies were going to start at any moment. One of the Nightlife Lords, a small anthropomorphic weasel wearing a black suit and sunglasses whilst smoking a stogie cigar, none other than the infamous Don Weaso, was standing by the unlit firecracker that was supposed to go off to signal the party getting started.
"Where the hell is that big galoot?" Don Weaso sighed, his choppy Italian accent made raspy by his cigar smoking. He turned to one of his cohorts, another weasel in a suit holding a Tommy gun, and gave him an irritated glance. "Ya did remind the Baron it was his turn to start the parties, right Lucca?"
"Yeah, yeah, boss!" The other weasel, Lucca, said, nodding his head rapidly. "I passed the message along to the girl that's always with him. She said she'd let the Baron know!" Don Weaso eyed Lucca carefully, watching as beads of sweat run down the other weasel's forehead. After waiting for the guy to crack, Don Weaso relented, taking a puff of his cigar.
"Good, at least ya did the job right, Lucca." Weaso said, eliciting a sigh of relief from his underling. "Although, I have one thing to comment on in regards to your method of completion." The Mobster Weasel grabbed Lucca's tie and pulled him close until both their faces were practically touching. "How did ya expect a girl like Mathilda to tell the Baron to get his ass over here when SHE DOESN'T TALK TO ANYONE?!"
"Because she didn't need to tell me," Said the all too familiar voice of a newcomer. "After all, the Baron never misses out on a public appearance." The two weasels turned around and saw, standing right before them, was the man of the hour himself, the Black Baron. The incredibly muscular African-American man stood tall above the two weasels (and most normal humans, in all fair honesty), wearing a flashy yellow overcoat, cargo pants, and fedora, sporting a pair of thick shades on his smug face, a glitz smile gracing his slightly bearded face, and sporting a pair of orange-golden gauntlets that just radiated heat. Standing next to him was Mathilda, a gorgeous woman with violet hair wearing a pair of sunglasses, a small leather jacket, and an incredibly over-sexualized skin-tight purple outfit. "'Sup, Weaso?"
"Ah, Black Baron," Don Weaso said, greeting the Baron with a warm smile after releasing his death-grip on Lucca. "So nice of you to finally grace us with your… interesting and unique presence…" The Baron laughed loudly, clapping Weaso on the shoulder (the Baron's strength making it feel like a boulder was dropped on the mobster).
"Shit, Don, Ah wouldn't miss getting' nightlife started for all the bottles of bub in the world!" The Baron proudly said, walking over to the massive firecracker. "Especially since Ah got to pick out the popper this time." He gave the large gold and red canister a few taps. "Ah'm surprised that my choice made it past those shitheads at the regulations board."
"We told them it was a giant cupcake looming over the hills." Don Weaso said with a light chuckle. "The folks at regulations are way too gullible."
"Ya got that right, Don." The Baron said. "Alright, where's my mike and music?!" Mathilda produced a silver microphone studded with various jewels, handing it to the Baron while men in jazz suits took up positions by the firecracker, each standing next to an instrument of choice for the opening ceremony. "Thanks baby. Ahem," The Baron turned on the microphone, eliciting a high pitched whine from the speakers all across Bourbon Street. Everyone's eyes turned towards the center of the street, smiles gleaming and ready with anticipation. The show had begun.
"Ladies and gentlemen, patrons of Base Prime's own Bourbon Street," The Baron loudly proclaimed, using his slick and suave voice to lure in the crowd. "Y'all know what time it is, and the Black Mutha Fuckin' Baron, stop starin', is once again proud to let y'all in to the wonderful nightlife of this fine establishment." Mathilda and Don Weaso both gave small smirks as the Baron gave his speech. "When Ah light the night's Hanabi Cracker, the nightlife can officially begin, and y'all can do whatever it is yo' greedy, putrid heart's desire. Get yo' grove on at the loads of nightclubs and party palaces and dance until y'all legs are jello. Drink everyone under the table at the bars and pubs until that ugly lookin' piece of shit sitting in booth three looks like a pair of hot models from Aruba. And, if y'all are lookin' for a real good time, partake in one of the many lovely ladies of the night and have yo'selves a real fine ass evenin'." He turned to the musicians on standby, giving them a tell-all nod. "Now, let the Baron give y'all a little somethin' before the party REALLY gets started. Hit it, boys." The musicians immediately broke out into a bouncy and catchy tune, the Baron twirling the microphone between his fingers. Finally, he stepped off the stage and walked down the street, doing one thing many people love the Baron for: singing. (*)
"Well, I've been livin' in sin for 'bout a month," The Baron sang, passing several people along the way. "Somethin' turns me 'round, it's somethin' that I just," He stopped, sampling a bottle of beer a patron offered him. "Can't understand, the way I behave. Some people you can never save!" He slung an arm around Mathilda, who walked alongside him, swaying her hips seductively. "On my right hand, I got a girl on my ear. And in my left hand," He took a quick swig of the beer. "Throwin' back a beer. What can I say? Of me, you steer clear." He tossed the bottle away, nailing some poor sap on the head. "When I'm drivin' down on Bourbon Street, oh yeah!" The Baron held Mathilda's hands, the two of them dancing side by side in the street as the instruments played on. "'Cuz every night we throw a little soiree," He spun Mathilda about, leaning her back. "I'm gonna turn her head until she's mine, all mine." Mathilda fell upon the ground with a thud when the Baron dropped her as he continued dancing on his own. "Every night I breed a new disaster. I might be right, I might be wrong." He jumped upon a table, startling the patrons having drinks. "Try to get away and I will bring you right along!" The Baron hopped off the table, clutching a bottle of the Street's namesake and began pouring the patrons drinks. "Sit back, have a seat! Sometimes salty, sometimes sweet!" While the patrons enjoyed their drinks, the Baron bounded off back onto the road. "You ain't never leavin' Bourbon Street!" While the rest of the patrons and the Baron sang and partied as the night is just about to begin, Don Weaso was approached by a pale man wearing a plaid red and black shirt, a black hood pulled over his eyes.
"Don Weaso," The hooded man said, his mouth gleaming with sharpened teeth. "I have an urgent message that must be passed along to the Black Baron." Don Weaso turned to address the hooded man, a small smile working its way onto his lips.
"Ah, one of the Watchers," Don Weaso regarded. "What do I owe the pleasure of one of Zedekiah Strong's personal men coming into our humble establishment of Bourbon Street?" The Watcher reached into his pocket and produced a small letter, sealed with an ink-red stamp marked by an eight-spoked spike wheel, the symbol of the Chaos Company.
"Give that letter to the Baron," The Watcher instructed. "It comes from the highest power, Zedekiah Strong himself. Make sure only he reads it." Just as the Watcher turned away, he quickly shifted back, looking down at the weasel mobster. "Oh, and don't try and read it yourself. The scientists made sure that if someone that isn't the recipient opens the letter, it will explode. So long." And as quick as he came, the Watcher was gone. Don Weaso stared at the letter in his hands, wondering what was inside and why it came from the Chaos Company, one of the four Major IDA Groups. Before Weaso could investigate any further, the Baron returned to his position by the firecracker, dripping with sweat and smiling a golden smile (both literal and figurative).
"And that's how you get things fuckin' done!" The Baron said between breaths. "And now, without further stalling," He lit a match and grasped the wick of the massive firecracker in one hand. "Let's light this bitch up." One press of a burning flame on an easily flammable wick, and the show was just about to get started. The Baron looked up in pride as he waited for his masterpiece to go off and light up the night sky in a glamorous image befitting a man of his stature. However, just as the wick neared the firework proper, the Baron noticed an odd tugging on his ankle. He looked down and saw Mathilda, smirking as she tugged at a small black rope that was tied to his own ankle. Following the length of the rope, the Baron saw it trailing from his ankle all… the way… to… oh no. Before the Baron could react, the rocket went off, shooting off into the sky and bringing the Baron along for a ride. As the light went up into the sky, everyone could hear the faint shout of one of the Baron's trademark sayings. "AW HELL NAW!" The lights went off, lighting up the sky in a shower of red, yellow, and green as everyone gazed in awe (while also keeping an eye out for anything the Baron may have "left behind"). The nightlife of Bourbon Street had finally begun.
Meanwhile, in an undisclosed location, just a few miles away from Bourbon Street, the Watcher walked alone, carefully navigating the paths in the darkness while the lights of Base Prime's premiere party place illuminated off in the distance. The hooded man reached into his pocket, pulling out a small circular device, pressing a button on it while it illuminated a light blue glow.
"The message has been delivered, sir." The Watcher said into the device. "The Baron and his 'mistress' will be on their way as soon as possible."
"Excellent work, Watcher." The device produced a soft, kindhearted British voice. "The Black Baron and Mathilda are the perfect agents for this mission."
"But are you certain we can trust him to get it done right?" The Watcher asked, worriedly. "I've read his files, and gotten interviews with both Jack Cayman and Leonhardt, and they both say the Baron is more prone to making sexual comments than actually getting things done."
"Which is why he is perfect," The voice on the device responded. "Especially with the team we'll be sending him with. Now, deliver the letters to the Saint Headquarters, the Angel's Watchtower, and the Wei Embassy. Once the team is assembled, we'll inform them of this dire mission. Zedekiah Strong, out." The light on the device faded, leaving the Watcher alone with his thoughts. He didn't like the idea of such members of ill repute being involved in such a high stakes mission, but he wasn't one to judge Zedekiah Strong's actions. He is the leader of the IDA after all. The Watcher turned around, once again turning his sights to Bourbon Street off in the distance. The fireworks had just gone off, and the Watcher had only one thought on his mind to rival all others.
"Why is there a giant flaming phallus in the sky?"
Author's Note: We have been waiting to do this for a LONG time. This, ladies and gentlemen, is going to be a crossover between Anarchy Reigns and one of our new favorite anime shows of all time "Shimoneta: The Boring World Where the Concept of Dirty Jokes Doesn't Exist". This idea is just too perfect, too absolutely golden, to pass up (and I'm surprised it hasn't even been done yet, to be honest). This story will be updated at random intervals, and is actually set before the events of IDA Ultimate Tournament. So, kick back, relax, and enjoy the lewdness and utter depravity that will come your way.
~IDA Official, Head Writer Mask
CREATIVE CONSULTANT'S NOTE: The titles of all the chapters are actually songs that will make an appearance in the actual chapter. There will be a (*) symbol when the song starts, as well as a follow-up to credit the artist. For this prologue, the song was "Bourbon Street" by Jeff Tuohy. In my opinion, jazz trumps all music (don't tell my boss).
~IDA Official, Creative Lead Red Rider