"Al, Come on! I though you were ready to go!" Larry shouted towards the Men's restroom, checking his watch. "It's 10:45, that movie of yours if going to start soon!"
"I would be, if these damn pants would stay on me! Did ya intentionally get a size too big?!"
"No, that's how people your age wear them now. They're supposed to stay low."
"Oh, my age? What exactly do you take that to be? I'm believe it was somewhere around 110, by my last count!"
"You know what I mean!"
"Oh, fine. I'm coming."
Seconds later, the door of the bathroom flew open, slamming angrily against the wall and most likely denting it. Capone stalked out with his face set in a dangerous scowl, the fingers of his left hand grasping the sagging edge of his Levi's with enough force to turn his knuckles white(er). Even the small, dull amount of color on the clothes was enough to severely highlight the fact that he was monochromatic.
The absolute absurdity of the situation, coupled by Capone's severely irritated expression, accounted to one of the most ridiculous things Larry had ever seen. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, shaking from the effort.
However, he needn't have worried; other circumstances were about to divert the gangster's attention.
"Well, Ivan, regarder qui le c'est, our favorite criminal."
"Da, Mr. Capone! It has been too long!"
Capone stopped dead. "Oh, bushwa..." he hissed, not turning around.
"Oui, he iz right! After all, we never really did rezolve that little spat we had a few nightz ago."
"Well, you're certainly not one to be talkin' about little, Frenchie."
Behind him, Napoleon scoffed and balled his fists, his face turning bright red. "You have a foolish mouth, American, as all of you do! Woe unto the day that you brought the wrath of Napoleon Bonaparte upon your ugly head!"
That made Capone turn around. "Oh, so now ya sink to insultin' me and my country!" he spat, hand still clutching the edge of his jeans.
"That I am! What iz it that are making of it, hmm?"
The gangster crossed the room in three long, angry strides, stopping only inches in front of Napoleon. He bowed his head in order to glare down at the shorter Frenchman.
"Well, what do you make of it, exactly?"
Napoleon opened and closed his mouth a few times, blinking rapidly and trying to ignore the blanket of sweat accumulating upon his forehead. Oh, how he hated heredity. "You know perfectly well, coq insensé!"
Larry saw a movement in the corner of his eye and noticed that Ivan the Terrible was slowly edging away. "Napoleon, we don't need-"
"Silence, you Russian idiot! I can take care of myself!"
"Oh yeah? Ya couldn't at the Smith, that's for sure!"
"HEY!"
All three rouges turned to look at Larry at once, ceasing their bickering.
"Will you guys please shut up? Like, now?"
"Why?" Napoleon and Capone said at the same time, momentarily turning to glare at each other when they realized this.
Larry just covered his eyes and swept an arm around.
Capone followed the movement with his eyes, scanning the room.
Oh. That's why.
He had forgotten that he was in a public museum filled with random people, a large crowd of whom had gathered around he and Napoleon. A number of teenagers were in the process of snapping pictures and taking notes, their younger compatriots shouting a reprise of "Fight! Fight!" until being dragged away by their mothers.
Capone felt his face growing considerably warm and turned away, lowering his head and instinctively grasping for the brim of a hat that wasn't there. "Daley. Screw. Now." He hissed in just over a whisper.
Larry lifted his face from his right palm and stared at him. "What? What did you just say?"
Capone glance-glared back at him over a hunched shoulder, mentally cursing whatever idiot had decided the English language needed to reinvent itself every 20 years. He didn't even want to know what that word meant now. "It means leave."
Larry gave a him a dubious look, apparently unconcerned about the non-dispersing mass of gawkers behind him. Unlike Al.
"Leave quickly." he added from between clenched teeth, roughly jerking his head in the general direction of the exit.
At last Larry sighed and relented, starting to walk to the exit and shaking his head the entire time. "Whatever you say." 
He managed to swerve back quickly enough to miss the slamming door.
"Arrive early to watch Firstlook, and view exclusive previews and specials before your feature film begins..."
"Why do you always insist on us getting here early and watching this stupid infomercial cluster?"
Rick sighed irritably through a mouthful of popcorn. "Because it shows 'exclusive previews and specials.'" he said in a mimic of the high-pitched voice. "Didn't you hear the announcer chick say that?"
Jake gave him an equally irritable look. "We have come to this theater enough to watch the entire thing three times over. We know what's on it, and I for one get tired of-"
"Look! Look! It's the Sherlock Holmes trailer! Shut up!"
Jake just sighed and leaned his head back, mentally cursing the theater's inability to upgrade their chairs. One got used to being told to shut up after being around Rick for long enough.
"I have a request... there's someone I want to see..."
"Sherlock Hooolmes." Rick whispered in sync with Blackwood's booming voice, letting out a relatively insane cackle afterwards and crunching more popcorn.
"You had better be glad we're the only people in here, nutcase."
"Someone hasn't shut up yet."
"Gimme the popcorn and I will."
"Deal."
The air.
That was the first thing Capone had noticed when he walked- well, stalked would be a better word- out of the museum.
It was cool, it was fresh- as fresh as city air could get, anyway- and it was moving. There was a breeze. A faint gust. The type of thing you feel everyday but completely take for granted. And it was wonderful, after being stuck in that miserable stuffy building for a month.
So he stood there on the steps of the Museum of Natural History, tilted his head back to let the wind caress it, forgot his earlier embarrassment, smiled just a little, and felt like everything was right.
Unfortunately, one of the side effects of being Al Capone was the fact that he was always, somewhere in the back of his mind, aware of his public image (despite the fact that he no longer had one). It would not do for him to be seen looking like an idiot staring at the sky, and so he cut his jubilations short with a slight cough and a neck rub.
He glanced around, looking for Daley, and saw him standing at the curb of the busy street beside a very odd-looking vehicle, one slick and roofless. He frowned at the thing, then looked up at the road in curiosity.
The cars shooting past all looked weird, coming in more models, sizes, and ridiculously gaudy colors than he would have ever though possible. But then, it had been just a few years since he had last seen one, back when the very invention was still considered new.
Capone shook his head irritably and began to descend the concrete staircase, not wanting to dwell on the thought. He just hoped the things rode better now than they had back when.
As Larry's car gunned its engine, a certain group of note-taking teenagers had put away their notes and were leaving the museum. The three were laughing merrily and giving each other solid high-fives.
"Dude, we are so going to make the paper with that article!" one boy chuckled.
"I know! Napoleon Bonaparte and Al Capone almost get in a fistfight and we're there to catch it! I got this awesome pic of them screaming at each other like they were going to bite off each other's heads!" a bespectacled girl agreed.
"Maybe we'll get a front-page headline!" he screeched joyfully.
"Well, we can't get paid or published until we get the thing written. I'll take care of it. And, Rob, that is the most ridiculous idea I've ever heard of. An almost-fight at some dusty little hole-in-the-wall barely merits an article. We'll be lucky if the paper picks this up as some sort of lame attention-grabber for an 'educational pursuit.'" their pessimistic friend muttered.
"Geez, Bella, chill. We got on the newspaper to have fun, remember?"
"Sure, Abbie Beth. Suuure. And my name's Arabella."
The guy, Rob, walked in between them and propped his elbows up and their shoulders, not an easy feat considering he was about two inches shorter than the girls. "Easy, easy, Bella. You remember your anger management courses."
Arabella rolled her eyes. "That never happened, Rob. And it's pointless to discuss this. Let's just get an article turned in so we can get some money and I can put it away in my Ferrari fund."
And so out walked a piece of writing that could make or break the Museum of Natural History and the fates of all its occupants.
Author's Note:I typed the bit about Capone outside while listening to 'Nemo' by Nightwish on repeat... awesome song, go check it out on Youtube or lala. I really think that band takes inspiration form Jules Verne. If anyone cares, Napoleon called Capone an idiotic rooster, hence the title's chapter. And, ooh, I got ya on the last line, didn't I? You don't have to worry about more OC's cluttering up the story, though. The three are not gonna show up any more, at the present moment. Hope you liked, enjoyed, etcetera!
