Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to Megamind. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction. The subtitle for this part hails from the song "Bad Reputation" by Joan Jett.

So here's the second part, then. Thanks to everyone who read, everyone who reviewed, and everyone who favorited the first part. I'm very glad you enjoyed it! Thank you. :)

Moving So Gracious
So Why Should I Care About a Bad Reputation

Naturally the crowd parted for him. The line shivered, then broke. Megamind swept his cape about his shoulders and took his rightful position.

A single woman remained, blocking the counter. She wore her hair long, just past her slight shoulders, and it gleamed as she bent to rifle through her purse. Her hips rolled; she shifted her weight. He'd recognize those thick curves anywhere. He sneered at her back.

"Hello, Miss Ritchi," he said.

She neither jumped nor screamed. Roxanne simply stilled. Her shoulders tensed, and that coiling of muscle coursed all down her back to her thighs; then the tension ran out of her. She set her purse down on the counter.

"Who would ever have suspected we would meet here, in so humble a diner?" He surveyed the sub shop, taking in the simple decor, the bright primary hues.

She turned, hand on her cocked hip. "Are you stalking me?"

Megamind drew himself upright. Even so, she stood some few inches taller than him. Clearly he needed thicker wedges on his boots, the better to leer down his nose. He did his best with the materials at hand.

"I'm a supervillain, Miss Ritchi, not a predator."

"And where exactly do you draw that line?"

"Even evil has standards," he said as he would to a child, and a particularly recalcitrant child at that.

The blow missed. Roxanne continued as if he had not spoken.

"Because to be honest," she said, touching her collar, "from where I'm standing, following a girl into a sandwich shop is a little predatory."

Megamind regrouped. He raised his chin so his spiked collar, rising high behind him, framed his head like a hooked hand. He thought it masterfully sinister, but Roxanne only raised her eyebrow and smiled that small, dry smile of hers.

"Well, I'm not here for you," he told her. He gestured expansively, encompassing the narrow length of the shop. His cape fluttered from his arm. "I wish to sample this shop's wares so that when I take over Metrocity, I know whether to destroy it."

"Isn't that Minion's job?" She flicked her fingers toward the long serving counter. Two workers in aprons cowered behind the protective glass. She looked back to Megamind. "You know, to do the coffee runs, because heaven forbid Megamind get his own donuts."

She said this with some measure of disapproval, as if it weren't Minion's place to do all Megamind bid of him, as if it were not his purpose to serve without question. The thought unnerved him. But then, did Roxanne not understand her place? Had she ever behaved as befit a helpless captive of the peerless and diabolically brilliant Megamind? Hardly. She was far too busy snapping off hurtful one-liners and questioning his logic and arching her shaped eyebrows.

Megamind laughed scornfully.

"Minion," he emphasized, "is busy attending to some minor but important matters at the lair."

Her eyes lidded, lashes dropping sardonically low. Her eyes were very blue, and her round hip cocked higher beneath her hand. "So which is it, minor or important?"

He caved to temptation. Steepling his fingers and touching the tips to his chin, he smirked at her. "Oh, you'll find out soon enough. I think you'll find it very... electrifying."

Roxanne groaned. "The eels again? Can't you think of something else to put in the tank? Like sharks?"

"Do you have any idea how difficult it is to keep sharks?" he fired back. "The water filtration demands alone would triple my energy bills." Not that he paid them anyway.

"If sharks don't work, then use—" She cast about, then said triumphantly: "Alligators. Crocodiles. Jellyfish. Come on. Give me something new to work with."

He scowled. "Believe it or not, Miss Ritchi, your entertainment is of no concern to me. Merely your fear."

"Alligators might be kind of scary," she said. "Oooh, what about snapping turtles?"

"Ha ha, yes. We all understand sarcasm." He wriggled his fingers and rounded his eyes, then withdrew to the comforting and very horrifying confines of his cape.

Roxanne laughed and turned to her purse. A length of her hair slithered over her shoulder to press against her cheek, and she swept it back behind her ear.

"So what time should I expect the pick-up? Friday's no good for me. I have a date."

"A date? All the better," he said. "Metro Man could hardly leave his date in the clutches of evil."

"I'm not dating—"

"We'll have to postpone the mold missiles," Megamind said to himself, "but that might be a boon. Storms next week, then—"

Roxanne tossed her hands up. "Why do I even bother?"

"What? I couldn't possibly know," he said. "Your existential crises are so far below my notice as to be like ants or some other small and similarly insignificant insect. How's the meatball sub?"

She sighed, resigned. "It's all right, but I've had better. You might want to try the Rachel sandwich. Their pastrami's very good."

He scanned the posted menu. "Yes. Yes, I might."

Roxanne leaned forward over the counter to call, "Is my beef on weck ready?" Her skirt strained over her hips, her thighs.

Megamind looked briefly to her then again to the menu, but the smooth curve of her spine and the heavy bell of her rear drew his eye irresistibly to her. He wondered that she was shaped so: slim on top, thick below; his opposite in this way. The thought was alien and strangely discomfiting. His ears itched. He glowered at the menu.

One of the workers handed Roxanne her bag. She thanked him and dropped a tip in the coffee cup set up by the register. Such generosity! Megamind scoffed.

"Until we meet again, Roxanne Ritchi!" he called after her.

Roxanne elbowed the door open. The wind caught at her hair, whipping it over her shoulders; then the door swung shut, blown into place by the wind. He watched her as she walked quickly past the window.

"Can," one of the servers squeaked. "Can I help you, M-Mister Megamind, sir?"

He turned from the window. He was smiling, he found. The server stared up at him in terror. Megamind forced his brow down and scowled.

"I demand a the Rachel sandwich," he said, looming over the crouching server. "And if you dare skimp on the pastrami..."

"Right away!" the server cried.

There, Megamind thought. At least someone still respected evil.