The teller, known as Mrs. Moore, watched as The Liquidator, colored an unusual, cloudy yellow/brown tint to his usual ice-blue form, stood in the middle of the room, not doing much of anything. He seemed to be having difficulty keeping any form at all; most of him was just a messy puddle on the floor. Bushroot, eyes bloodshot and foliage a bit more strewn than usual, stood beside is partner in crime, shaking, eyes darting around the room nervously. Mrs. Moore stood in silence, while the three bystanders cowered on the floor.
Suddenly, the bubbly mass of water spoke up, in a rather loud, slurred voice.
"Uh... Busssshoot, d-" At the sound of his name, or perhaps just any sound at all, Bushroot jumped three feet in the air and gave a startled yelp.
"GAH! THE BOOGIEMAN! I KNEW HE'D FIND ME, MAN!" cried the terrified plant, immediately making a mad dash for the door. Liquidator made an effort to grab Bushroot before he bolted, but his reflexes seemed to be off that particular day and didn't even come close to grabbing him. There was a loud, hollow 'THUD' as the mutant plowed into the glass doors of the bank and bounced back to land on his back on the floor. He didn't move. Mrs. Moore had time to wonder if the blow had killed him... or atleast knocked him out. The watery canine was doubled over laughing. When the insane brays died down to manageable giggles, he sloshed over to the motionless scientist.
Bushroot opened his eyes slowly, the bright lights hurting his eyes and causing a shooting pain in his head. Or maybe it was being splattered against a pane of glass that was causing his pain. Liquidator was looming over him, still giggling. Bushroot put a leafy hand on his own forehead to make sure his brains weren't leaking out.
"Whoa... dude... since when do restaurants have invisible force fields?" he mummbled, as Liquidator helped him up, nearly falling over himself.
" Survey says... says, doors haha! Doors are more useful when... oooopen! *hic*" replied the Liquidator, pushing on the door to demonstrate. The doors didn't budge. "OH NO MAN! We're trapped! Like... like... WE'RE TRAPPED MAN! We can't get out! We'll suffocate... dude... DUDE I CAN'T BREATHE!" exclaimed the paranoid plant, sinking down against the door and grabbing at his throught. Just then spoke up.
"Um... sir... sirs... that's a pull door..." she squeeked. The liquidator stared blankly at the doors for awhile. Then when it seemed to sink in, he reached out and pulled the door open. Bushroot scurried outside to gasp in the fresh air. "We're saved!" he called out to the city. Liquidator followed him out and the doors swung closed behind them. They walked down the street, side-by-side, having a conversation about purple not actually being a color, but a whole 'nother universe.
As if called upon by the mention of purple, the Masked Mallard of Saint Cannard himself poofed in.
"I AM THE TERROR, THAT FLAPS IN THE NIGHT.... I, AM-" Darkwing Duck looked around the room, puzzled, as the rest of his signature blue smoke faded away.
"I am... obviously late." he finished lamely. A quick survey of the teller, who still had her arms in the air, along with the three cowering customers, told him he was in the right place, but there was no sign of Liquidator or Bushroot. Awkwardly, he sauntered over to the teller, who had finally remembered to put her hands down and relax a little.
"Uh... mind telling me what happened here, uh- ... Mrs. Moore?" he asked her, looking at her nametag. nodded.
"Well, sure, I suppose I could. Liquidator and Bushroot came in and-"
"And demanded all the money?? Began terrorizing these innocent bystanders?? Hmmmm?" injected Darkwing, jumping on the counter and gesturing to the bystanders, who were still on the floor. Moore shrunk back from his sudden outburst, and shook her head vigorously.
"Oh. no! They did no such thing. It was strange; Bushroot came up to me and tried ordering a Happy Hippo Meal, and the Liquidator just... stood there. Neither one of them looked well..." recalled Mrs. Moore, a hint of worry in her voice. Darkwing raised an eyebrow.
"You expect me to believe that Bushroot and Liquidator, two of Saint Canard's most dangerous criminals, walk into a bank, and order fast food?!" demanded the irritable mallard. The teller simply nodded.
"Yes, sir."
"Well... then what happened??" he was still shouting. began to wonder if she should suggest Anger Managment classes. She decided against it.
"I told them we didn't serve food here, that this was a bank, and so he tried ordering icecream instead. I tried telling them we didn't serve that, either, but they just stood in the middle of the room. Waiting for their icecream, I guess." she finished with a shrug.
The Masked Mallard went into his thinking pose, ignoring that there were others around him and saying his thoughts out loud, like he was known for doing.
"Hmmm... they were obviously confused... or perhaps... I got it! Brainwashed! Yes, they must have been brainwashed! But by whom... hmmm..." and with that, he turned and left, struggling with the door momentarily before realizing it was a pull door, and exited to the street, still mumbling to himself.
"Uh. gee, DW... how can ya be sure they were brainwashed?" questioned Launchpad McQuack, over the ratcatcher's roaring motor, as the two of them sped down the road, keeping a close lookout for the two excaped criminals. Even if they hadn't done any harm at the bank, they were both still wanted, both having been sentenced to life in prison aftercommitting murder at one point or another. Besides, maybe they could get some answers out of them and find out who had been brainwashing villians, and why.
"Well, what else could it be?? I'm not saying Liquidator and Bushroot are the sharpest tools in the shed, but what supposedly took place back there was even too weird for them, Launchpad." he replied. "Yeah... maybe. Hey, it's just too bad ya got there too late, eh, DW? Heh, you coulda seen for yourself-"
"Oh, like it's MY fault! Most villians are smart enough to wait untill night time to do their deviously-dastardly-doings. I have a daytime job, y'know!" he argued. Launchpad remained silent, for he knew the crime fighter did not actually have a daytime job of any kind, but didn't want to be yelled at again.
Lost in his own thoughts as to who or what could possibly be behind this strange crime, DW nearly collided with an over-turned mailbox that was lying in the road. He swerved to miss it at the last sencond and collided with an over-turned car instead.
Stumbling away from the wreckage, Darkwing turned to look at what was left of his bike.
"Oh COME ON. Seroiusly?? Does my ride have to get totaled EVERY episode??" he complained. Launchpad finally freed his foot from the wreckage and walked over to stand by DW.
"You're not kiddin'. I'm the one who's gotta fix it every time. It ain't cheap. But uh..., this isn't an episode, DW, more like a badly written fanfiction." observed Launchpad. Darkwing glared at him and he went silent.
Now on foot, the two crime fighters continued to walk down the street. This part of town was in ruins; cars and mailboxes overturned, buildings crumbling, fire hydrants destroyed. Vines had pushed through the concrete and asphalt and snaked accross and around nearly everything, most constricting and crushing. Every manhole lid in the vacinity had been removed and sewage gushed out into the streets. The smell was terrible.
"Ah-HAH! I knew it! Only TWO villians could cause THIS kind of damage. Liquidator and Bushroot!"
"But DW, we already knew it was them. Uhh... didn't we?" "Well... yeah, but now... we know we're getting close!" explained DW. Just then he let out a yelp of surprise as a manhole cover clanked down right beside them, missing them by mere inches.
"Whoa! I'd say that's a little TOO close!" squeeked Launchpad. Darkwing was about to respond when a familliar voice was heard.
"Haa... Darkwing and pelican dude... we got you now!" challenged Bushroot, standing a ways up the street. Something was off about his voice, but Darkwing chalked it up to being brainwashed and ignored it.
"Bushroot! I knew I'd find you lurking around here!" called Darkwing, already reaching for his gun. Bushroot looked shocked.
"You did? ... Are you, like... psychic, man?... Oh, oh! Dude... what am I thinking... right... now?" asked the botanist, coming closer with a look a pure concentration on his face, as though he was trying to send his thoughts into Darkwing's head. The mallard pulled out his gun slowly, but didn't aim. Something wasn't right.
"Gee DW... he doesn't look so good..." said Launchpad, pointing out the obvious. The botanist's eyes were red and bloodshot, deep dark bags under both of them. His normally bouncy petal-hair was pale and limp.
"No kidding! And his looks aren't his only problem, Launchpad..." growled the duck. Bushroot stopped about ten feet away. Just stood and stared. His bloodshot eyes were hooded, and he smiled numbly. He began to drool.
"Uh... Bushroot... ol' buddy... are you, uh... feeling alright?" tried Darkwing, already knowing he obviously wasn't. Bushroot looked to his right.
"... Did that garbage can just talk to me? Whoa..." he said. Launchapad's face let up.
"Oh! I was psychic for a day, remember DW? Maybe I can read his mind!" Darkwing mumbled something about how he doubted there was much of anything going on inside of BushBrain's mind right now, but it went ignored.
"Hmmm... are you thinking about... oh! The Hungry Hippo!" exclaimed the pilot excitedly. This startled the mutant and he turned back to them, eyes wide.
"NO! NO you stay out of my head, man! IT'S MINE! Daisy! Get him out of my head!" cried Bushroot, holding his head as if that would do anything. As he commanded, a small potted flower on a nearby windowsill uprooted it's self, hopped off the sill and began making it's way toward Darkwing and Launchpad. Darkwing rolled his eyes.
"Oh please. That was a sad try, even for you, melon-head.." he groaned, simply lifting his webbed foot and crushing the small flower into the pavement. Bushroot gasped.
"Oh no! You have defeated my army with your foot! I-... hey, does it taste pink out here to you?" was his reply, licking the air infront of him. Darkwing was about to shoot him just because he was being an idiot, but again they were interrupted.
"Are you feeling like pudding? Do giant foots keep stepping on your friends? I said foots. HAHaha..." the bubbly, underwater salesman jargon voice seemed to surround them, seemed to come from everywhere at once, and now they were surrounded by rather silly, bubbly laughter.
"I'm scared, DW..." whimpered Launchpad, huddling close to his friend. Darkwing pushed him away and pointed his gun in a random direction.
"Come on out, Dripbrain... you can't hide forever!" he called. Just then the sound of rushing water from behind caught them by surprise and they whirled around, just in time to see a huge wave-shaped Liquidator looming over them. "Whyyy hide from your enemies when you can just *hic*.. wash them away!" Liquidator said a bit too loudly, but that was normal for him. Darkwing had time to notice his color was off, and he had more bubbles in his form than usual. Infact he almost seemed to be carbonated, as fizzy bubbles fizzed and popped all around him.
The canine-wave began to descend, fully intent of washing them away as adversized, but it stopped mid-way, a look of pure discomfort all over what little could be seen of his face. In a flash, the Liquidator reverted to his dog-like-shape and groaned.
"Ohh... I think I'm gonna barf man..." and with that, he quickly glided his way over to the nearest manhole and ralphed into the sewer.
Darkwing and Launchpad stood watching in utter confusion and revulsion. The pilot tapped Darkwing on the shoulder.
"Hey, DW... did ya get a whiff of that guy? He smelled like-"
"Beer! I know... he REEKS of it... wait a minuit. The yellow/brown cloudy color, the fizzy bubbles, that ugh... that SMELL, and his strange, goofy behavior. Launchpad! I think Liquidator is... DRUNK!" Darkwing reported, obviously pleased with himself for figuring this out.
"Not drunk! I-IMPROVED!" Announced the wattery criminal, having made his way back infront of them and over hearing their conversation without them noticing. The crime-fighter was about to start a lecture on how the only thing alcohol improves in your ability to act stupid, be thrown in jail or even killed, when Liquidator decided to explain his claim.
"Alcohol freezes at a MUCH *hic* ..." Liquidator paused to hold back another bout of barfing. " ... at a much lower temperature than... water... sooooo! Combining myself with... Ohh... okay... maybe I'm... a little drunk..." and with that, he lost the battle and turned around to barf onto the street. Darkwing and Launchpad watched in horror and disgust at the sight. Launchpad was beginning to feel like he was going to barf, too. To get his mind off of it, and to break the awkward silence, he spoke up.
"Uh... why dincha' just use uh... antifreeze?" he asked. It went ignored, or, more likely, the villian just couldn't hear him over the sound of his own retching.
"HEY! Water... dude... heh, I forgot yer name, but DUDE! Get over here, it tastes pink over here, I'm serious!" Bushroot called out to his watery companion. The shoutout started the do-gooders, for they had figured that by now, Bushroot would have been long gone. But nope, he was right where he was before the Liquidator showed up, still tasting the air. Soon Liquidator had joined him. "Heeey, you're right! The utter convenience of your average air, noooow in a zesty PINK flavor!"
Seeing the perfect shot; both criminals together, Darkwing took the opportunity to aim his gasgun at the dou. Before he could fire, however, Launchpad tapped him on the shoulder again. Darkwing growled in frustration and anger. "What IS... it... LP?" he hissed between clenched teeth. The pilot ignored his angered tone.
"If Liquidator's drunk... what's wrong with Bushroot? Is he drunk, too?" "Well, how should I know?! Does it matter? They're destroying the city!" Darkwing was waving his arms around, and Launchpad wasn't sure if he was gesturing to the ruined city or just being himself. Launchpad shrugged.
"Guess I'll ask 'em."
"Hey, Bushroot!" Launchpad called out. The masked mallard tried to shush his friend before the criminals remembered they were there and made a break for it, but his efforts were in vain. Neither of them noticed, but now that Bushroot and Liquidator seemed to be preoccupied with the tasty air, the vines had begun to recede back into the ground, and the sewage was already ebbing away back into the sewage drainers.
Bushroot's eyes shot open wide at the mention of his name, Liquidator again didn't seem to have heard him.
"Bushroot... are you, uh heh, well, are ya... drunk?" called Launchpad, a little embarrassed at the mere mention of such a dirty condition. Bushroot shook his head in wide archs, causing his limp petal-hair to fly every which way.
"Naw man, I'm not drunk. Haa. Okay, okay, this is what happened,... okay?" replied the plant. There was a long silence and LP was starting to wonder if he was going to finish. DW was wondering where Goslyn was.
"Okay, so, like... I was at home, right? And there was this loud crashing noise! It like, freaked me right the hell out, man. So like, then, there were all these flashing lights and it got really really hot, and then there was this dragon! Yeah man, I know, I'm tellin ya, it was a dragon. And it was all like... Raaawr! 'N I was all... whoa. But seriously, I think the Olsen twins already know that Obama's an alien." explained Bushroot at last. Darkwing did a face-palm. Launchapad was actually trying to make sense of that story. "Allow ME to explain." offered Liquidator, striking a pose. Darkwing slouched, putting away his gun and sighing, his face contorted in utter annoyance. "Sure. Why not." grumbled the duck.
"Someone set fire to Bushroot's greenhouse, and the smoke from some of the burning plants had an ill effect on this mutant plant-duck!" cajoled Liquidator, widely gesturing toward Bushroot, who was busy sniffing his leaf-hand. Darkwing looked shocked.
"Bushbrain is... he's..."
"Tired of getting high on life? Try getting HIGH on WEEEED! Side effects may vary." Liquidator made it clear this time. Bushroot was stoned out of his mind.
"Does that mean... Bushroot was growing Marijuana plants, DW?? I can't believe it! I expected better from him." said Launchpad, shaking his head sadly, his whole posture mirroring his disappointed feelings.
"Expected better?? He's a criminal, Launchpad! It's not the worst thing he's grown. Atleast Marijuana doesn't turn people into vampire zombies... er... well, you get the point." LP didn't get it, but by this point in the story, he was so confused he decided not to pursue it any farther. Just then a scream from Bushroot made them both jump. They turned to see Liquidator had been reduced to nothing more than a fizzing puddle on the sidewalk. He had passed out. Bushroot was slowly backing away, never taking his eyes off of his unconscious friend.
"He melted! He melted, man! He was there, and just... he melted! This pink air, it melts people man, I gotta get out of here!" cried the terrified plant. With that, he turned and began to run, but LP blocked his path. Bushroot collided with Launchpad, who didn't budge, but sent the mutant sprawling onto the sidewalk. LP sheepishly apologized, and Bushroot asked him if he was made out of frozen jello.
Darkwing quickly collected Liquidator into a bottle before he oozed through a crack or into a sewage drain, easily handcuffed Bushroot without a fight, and both were sent to prison, where they broke out after regaining their composure. Having no home to go back to, Bushroot and Liquidator moved into an old abandoned warehouse with plenty of windows, because for some reason, Saint Canard is filled with abandoned warehouses. The botanist was happy to discover that Spike had survived the fire, and now lives with Reggie and Bud in their new shared home. The villainous duo never managed to cause as much damage as they did when they were drunk and stoned.
The parts of the city that had been destroyed were slowly repaired with the help of taxpayers' money.
The end.