"I can't believe Batman bought us tickets to go to this science fiction convention," the blind man said.
The jester leaned over and rapped him with scepter, unleashing a tinkling of jingle bells. "Shaggy, what is the first rule of Fight Club?"
The blind man had to think about that for a moment. "Don't talk about Fight Club?" He hazarded.
"Right," the jester agreed. "And what is the first rule of covert operations?"
"Ah, don't talk about Fight Club?"
Fred conked him again. "No, it's don't talk about being undercover!"
"Freddy, if you keep hitting Shaggy with your jester's stick security is going to come and take it away," chided the saucy lady pirate.
"Sorry, Daph."
"It's really an honor to be asked by Bat- that guy - to help him." said the ugly witch.
The saucy lady pirate rolled her eyes at what sounded like brown-nosing on the ugly witch's part, not understanding just how much Velma really worshiped Batman.
The four of them were walking from the overflow parking to the Gotham Convention Hall. Scooby Doo had a service dog handle strapped to his back which Shaggy was holding on to. Shaggy's costume, such as it was, were a pair of dark sunglasses. He'd wanted to dress Scooby Doo in matching sunglasses but Fred had overruled him. "You and Scooby are not in costume," he had explained. "You're supposed to be blind and Scooby is your guide dog. It's the only way they'll let a dog into the convention.
"Like, the hotel must be expecting the elevators to break-down during the convention," Shaggy said, getting the conversation off him. "They already got an elevator service on site." he nodded towards a large step-van parked down the service drive.
"Maybe an elevator has already broken?" Daphne suggested, giving an expert toss of her red hair over her bare shoulders. This wasn't their first convention and elevator break-downs from heavy traffic was a familiar affair.
Hotel Security met them at the door, "sorry, no dogs allows." they told Shaggy. Fred was about to argue with them when Shaggy pulled himself up, assumed a haughty expression, "Sir, I am blind as you can see. This is my seeing eye dog. I can not go anywhere without him and according to the Americans With Disability Act I am allowed to take my service dog with me anywhere." Shaggy's voice of authority left Fred bemused; he'd never heard him use it before.
"I've got to call my boss," the rent-a-cop said, pulling out a walkie-talkie and moving a few feet off. He was back a moment later. "The boss has his doubts but he isn't going to argue with the ADA," and let them through.
The doors opened into a large courtyard filled with ferns, cluster of chairs, people in costume promenading around and on one side a row of tables where people were registering. Registration was divided into six lines depending on one's last name. Velma was waiting patiently when four of five boys, ages six to about eleven, ran around a corner and saw her. "It's the wicked witch! Watch out she's going to curse us...aggghhhh!" one yelled and he fell into a clump on the floor. The other scatters, screaming 'don't curse us, don't curse us.' The boy on the floor sprang up and started running around Velma screaming, "you can't catch me." Velma was pretty sure she could. She was a lot faster on her feet than people tended to give her credit for, but she didn't want to lose her place in line. Eventually the boys tired of their teasing and wandered on. Velma was still seething when she caught up with the rest of Mystery, Inc.
"Why do I always have to be ugly witch," she said. "Why can't be the saucy pirate for once."
"Velma, you know they didn't have that costume in your size," Fred said.
"Besides, you really don't have the legs for it," Daphne added.
Velma rolled her eyes then looked at Daphne. The redhead was wearing knee-high swashbuckler boots, fish-net tight under them, silky blue shorts. A lighter blue middy blouse finished the costume, leaving a lot of Daphne chest exposed. The only thing that looked like it might not have fit was the shorts. On Daphne's narrow hips they were loose and generous. Velma's hips were ... a bit broader. She looked down at her own costume and grimaced . She was wearing a loose floor-length black dress, a big, hooked putty nose, green face-paint, a burlap satchel over one should and a broomstick make up of twigs. A black, pointed hat and a grey wig completed the disguise. The nose itched where it was glued on to her face.
"I don't know why Bat - that guy - couldn't come to the convention himself. I mean, like, every one's in costume. He'd just be one more costume. Hey, look, that could be him over there!" The blind man pointed across the room.
"Put your finger down," Fred rasped, stopping himself before smacking Shaggy's fingers with his bell enwrapped stick. You're blind. Remember, blind people DO. NOT. POINT!"
"Yoikes, sorry."
"Besides that is obviously not Batman," Velma said. "He's short, has a pot-belly, his costumes not very good and he slouches like most of us do. Batman... You'd know it was him, even at a costume convention. He's tall, with huge shoulders, rock-hard abs and ..."
"Velma!" Daphne said, shocked by Velma's panting description.
"I think we should split up," Fred was saying. "It's a large convention. there's a lot of people here and it's going to be hard to find the one person Batman wants us to find." Fred paused a moment then went on. "All he could say when he called me was that the person was young, antisocial, withdrawn, will probably keep in the shadows or out of the way and is planning to do something terrible some time this weekend."
"Is it a boy or a girl," Shaggy asked.
"Batman couldn't say."
"Jinkies, It's like finding a needle in a haystack." Velma said.
"But it's important that we find the," Fred said. "Call me if you think you see them. And keep the bodycams Batman gave us clear. I gather he's send the feed through a computer for analysis. Today we're literally his eyes and ears."
"I'll check out the panels," Velma said and headed down the hallway towards the meeting rooms. "I'll check out the art show," Daphne proposed. "I'll cover the grounds," Fred said. "And, like, Scooby and I will check out the food court," Shaggy said. "Hmm, food," Scooby grumbled.
"Um, Freddy," Daphne called, watching Shaggy lead his leader dog down through the crowds. "I don't think we should leave Shaggy to wander by himself. As a blind man he's not supposed to know where he's going. I'll stick with him, like I'm his guide or something. Ok?"
But Fred Jones had already walked off. Rolling her eyes, Daphne hurried after Shaggy.
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Velma was forcing herself to walking slowly so she could look into every corner or nook along the hallway. Also there were so many people in costumes being photographed that she had to be careful not to walk into anyone's shot. Everywhere she looked skinny girls in skimpy costumes were striking a pose, trying to look sexy or menacing or both. No one was bothering to stop her to take her picture. She found herself brooding over Daphne airy dismissal of her ever being sexy. She came to a woman's restroom and remembering her mother advice that a lady never passed up the opportunity to use a restroom, she went in.
While washing her hands Velma took a long look at herself in the mirror. Ugly witch indeed. God, she hated it. With a sudden impulse she tore off the long, hooked and warty plastic nose and threw it into the corner. Then, because she was a tidy person she walked over, picked it up and tossed it into the trash. She pulled off the stringy grey-haired wig that came with it and tossed that as well. Grabbing a handful of paper towels, Velma wetted them and scrubbed at her face until all the green make-up was gone. Looking at the results she immediately felt better. Maybe not a saucy witch but she at least looked like a friendly one. For once she wasn't embarrassed by the freckles on her face; they looked inviting, standing out on her pink, scrubbed face. She took off the black witch's hat, letting her red hair show. Then placed the hat back on her head, lightly, so it rested on top her hair. She liked how that looked. The black hat accented the redness of her hair. Velma usually considered her red hair a tragedy rather than an attraction. For now she was happy how it made her look less like an ugly witch.
But could she be a "saucy" witch? The dress of her costume zipped up the front. It obviously began life as someone's choir robe. Velma ran the zipper down to the top of her bra. Being a sensible person, she wore a sensible bra: white, sturdy and very large. She didn't have to go far to reach the top of the bra. For her it was a lot more skin that she usually felt comfortable displaying but it hardly qualified as "saucy." She pulled the zipper down a little, then a little more, then with a grunt all the way down to the waistband of her panties. Well, that was too far! Velma pulled the zipper up until she found a spot just south of her sternum that seemed to display the maximum amount of cleavage. Now that's saucy, she thought. But she could hardly wear her dress like that and wear her bra at the same time!
Velma looked around to see that no one else was there, then reached in back and unhooked her bra. She pulled the straps down over her arms before dragging the whole through out the opening in her dress. Chills were running up and down her spine at the sheer ... naughtiness of what she was doing. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and opened them. And instantly pulled the edges of her dress back over her breasts!
After a moment she calmed down and assessed the situation. The zipper came up a bit to keep her dress from opening up quite so much but on the whole Velma felt happy about it. The freckles that ran across her upper chest also ran down a bit into her cleavage, emphasizing that forbidden valley. She twisted from side to side checking that her dress would stay in place. It did, sort of. She'd just have to remember not to twist about too much.
"Jinkies! I look like Elvira," she muttered and that gave her an idea. The costume came with a burlap sack to wear over the shoulder, to hold apples and such. In Velma's case it held a flashlight, magnifying lens, other useful items including a small pair scissors. She grabbed the hem of her dress and cut through the seam before ripping it to about mid-thigh. She struck a pose with her left leg pushed forward. The dress slipped around her leg perfectly. Who said she didn't have the legs for tights? This would show them.
Throwing her shoulders back, picking up her broom prop Velma proudly marched out of the restroom ... only to come to a sudden halt as she felt her bosom jiggling wildly out of control. A quick look showed that she hadn't suffered a wardrobe malfunction - yet! Velma felt a sudden urge to run back into the restroom and zip herself back up. She resisted it. She was going to be a saucy witch or die trying! Sliding one foot forward at a time Velma eased down the hall, trying hard not to jiggle
][
Velma hadn't gone down the corridor very far before a guy stopped her to take her picture. No one had ever asked to take her picture before, so her first thought was 'it's working!' She checked to make sure nothing was showing than worked on a smile that was neither too broad or too restrained.
Soon there was another photographer, then a third. Someone wanted his picture taken with her. His hand drifted a bit below her waist for Velma's comfort, but for her it was a new experience. She savored it.
All this time Velma was keeping a look out for nooks and crannies were anti-social people might shelter. Her work for Batman remained on her mind, mostly. She tried not to think what her mother would say if she saw her dressed like that.
At the end of the hall was the Grand Ballroom. They were having a presentation there for one of the big Hollywood studios for a film coming out the following year. She went in.
The presentation must be winding down she thought as they were doing a question and answer segment and people were drifting out. She started to look for people hanging around the edges of the hall when suddenly she tripped and went hurling to the floor.
It happened so fast that she had only a confused glimpse of what happened, her feet went out from under her, the floor came flashing up, then suddenly someone caught one of her arms and kept her from landing on her nose. He help pull her to her feet, smiling sheepishly, then blushing deep red. Velma looked down and hurriedly pulled the edges of her dress together. For a moment she had been fully exposed!
"Are you OK?" the boy asked.
Velma had time to take stock of him: young, slight, if not outright skinny; wearing black jeans, a black Tee and a grey hoodie. His skin was sallow, his mouth was tight, as if he wasn't used to smiling and his eyes were hooded and wary. Except when they drifted down below her shoulders, then they stared rather avidly. "Yeah. I'm fine. Thanks for catching me. That could have been a nasty fall. I wonder what I tripped over. She looked around but there was nothing, no loose carpet, string out cords, loose sheets of paper. "Jinkies," she mumbled. "I must have tripped over the hem of my dress. Well, thanks again for saving me.
"No problem. I'm glad I could help. Is this your first time at a convention?"
"First time at the national. it's - ah - overwhelming."
"Yeah. Isn't it, though. This is my first time here, too. Say, you want to get something to eat? They're closing up the room so they can prepared for the big Masquerade Ball tonight. I was getting ready to leave when I saw you trip..."
Velma hesitated.
"My treat?" the boy suggested.
Velma considered. "Ok," she agreed. "Are you going to the ball?"
"Oh, I'll be there." he said with unusual emphasis.