AN: Songfic for "There's A Good Reason These Tables Are Numbered Honey, You Just Haven't Thought Of It Yet" by Panic! At The Disco. Collabfic with Luna (SapphyreMoonlyte as you would know her on dA). This one's a bit adult due to the subject matter that the conversation veers into, but if you think you can handle it, be my guest and keep on reading.


There's A Good Reason

Well I know, I know it just doesn't feel like a night out with no one sizing you up

I've never been so surreptitious so of course you'll be distracted when I spike the punch

He wasn't supposed to be here.

No, surveying the tacky arrangements of flowers and half-dressed "beauties", he wasn't entirely sure why he'd arrived at all. Why was he even invited?

Buddy Pine sipped at his cup of punch, looking about the room and trying to figure out why he'd been invited to such a party. The only reason he could think of was that he'd sold something to the obviously rich party-thrower in the past, or something.

The inventor shook his head and threw the plastic glass in the trash. This wasn't nearly exciting enough to be a party, but since he was here, it apparently wasn't intended to be a formal affair. Yet he stayed leaning on the rail near the door, glancing at every person that walked past him as though he were expecting someone.

Violet walked as quickly as she could towards the house. It was quite chilly, and she was regretting wearing open toed shoes the moment she had stepped out into the night. She nodded to the man at the door, who recognized her and let her into the house.

The villain noticed the slim figure hurrying inside, clad in a lavender tone complimenting the butterfly in her hair that appeared to hold up her hair bun. He smirked. "Hey, do I know you?" The question was, of course, rhetorical. He'd seen the daughter of Mr. Incredible enough to know that she was standing right before him, though the bigger question was why.

Violet looked up at the man and blinked a couple of times. She felt as if her eyes were deceiving her, this man seemed scarily similar to someone, though who she couldn't place quite yet. "Um... maybe. I hope not, I hate it when I forget people."

"Well, you should. I'd think the hair would give me away!" he replied with a laugh, then took his black mask out of his pocket and placed it over his eyes. "Maybe this will give you a hint."

"Holy-" The young woman backed up, running into a waiter with hors d'oeuvres. Violet turned and apologized profusely, but the man had kept upright and no food had been harmed.

She turned back around to face the villain that she indeed did once know. "Syndrome?"

"The one and only," he replied, taking off his mask as he gave her a mock bow. "I see you've been well."

"Why are you here? No- better yet, HOW are you here?"

"To make a long story short, I came by car."

Violet glared at the man. "You know what I meant."

"That is for me to know... and me to know," he said with a grin. "What, you think I'd just give away my secrets to you? You seem to be horribly mistaken."

"So, what are you expecting? Me to just... hand myself over to you and give up without a fight? If that's the case, you know the wrong me," Violet snapped. "And if that's not the case, maybe you should EXPLAIN the case. Because otherwise I'm going to assume things about said case until you tell me."

"Hey, who said I was kidnapping you?" the villain asked with a smirk. "We're at a party, aren't we? I'm here because I was invited. Now why are YOU here? I seriously doubt you know the host."

"Actually, I was sent on a family friend's behalf. And I said you were probably kidnapping me, because if I know anything about villains, it's that they love to crash parties. Let's move somewhere just a tad less crowded, please. I'm going to knock over just about everyone in this crowded room like a line of dominoes if we don't."

Syndrome led the way through the back of the crowd, out and around to a more open area. "There, claustrophobia. Better now?"

"Don't call me that, I have a name. And yes, it IS much better now, thank you."

"Good. Now, before you ask what I'm doing here again, I'm a friend of the host's. They... are familiar with my wares, so to speak." The villain grinned. "To be fair, they weren't buying anything illegal or destructive, which is uncommon for my creations."

"You make something that's not illegal or destructive?"

"I know, I'm surprised too. If there are any pyrotechnics at this party, they're courtesy of me."

Violet stared at the man. "Of the firework variety, or like bombs," She asked in a disbelieving, almost unquestionlike tone.

"Like showers of non-flammable sparks for show. Basically fireworks."

"You know, now that I think of it, I'm not quite sure how E knows this guy," The young woman said, mainly to herself.

"Doesn't she design for supermodels? He married one. The shower of sparks was for their wedding."

"Wait, you know Edna?" She asked, not paying attention to what the party was for. "How do you know Edna?"

"Friends of friends, like this," he said with a shrug. "She's got a big personality. I like her."

Violet laughed. "Big personality for such a small host body," she nodded. "Erm, that sounded horribly parasitic. That's not how I meant it."

Syndrome chuckled. "I know what you meant. So why are you so..." He stared at her form for a moment before looking elsewhere, "underdressed, for lack of a better word? This is a gown and tux affair, after all. Not sure why, and that's why I came in a dress shirt and vest, and I have enough money to cover myself if someone's got a problem. You don't have that excuse."

"For that exact same reason, moron. You have enough money. I, well... Don't. This was the most affordable yet at least somewhat-formal outfit I could come across. Plus, E thought it looked terrific, though only God knows why."

"I'm not saying it doesn't look terrific," he said with a snort, "I'm just saying it's a bit short around the thigh area, especially for a straight-laced Super."

Embarrassed, Violet pulled on her dress, trying to give it a little more length. "Why are you even LOOKING there?"

"It's hard not to. It draws attention to itself." He shrugged.

She groaned. "If I had known people were actually going to look at me, I would've worn something less fancy and with more cover, happy?"

"Less fancy wouldn't have done you any good, and I never said I wasn't enjoying it. I was just wondering why you would choose something like it."

The young woman threw her hands up in the air. "I chose it because it felt good compared to the spandex I had been wearing not five minutes prior to finding this dress, kay? Stop treating me like I'm your younger sister and giving me the third degree!"

"I'm not trying to criticize your choice, I'm just warning you that you're going to get a lot of glances around your hemline from every single guy in this room, myself included."

"I think you're full of bullshit."

"And I think the guy behind you is checking you out." Syndrome grinned sadistically.

She turned around and saw that the man was indeed checking her out. "Hey, guy? My eyes are up here," She said, snapping her fingers to get his attention on her eyes. The man looked shocked for a second and then turned away, embarrassed.

"Now who's full of shit?"

"You still are. Just one guy other than you. Besides, who really cares about my damn thigh-line? Most of these women have size double-d breasts and a neckline to show it."

"Most of these women have nothing but stuffing and silicon, if you catch my drift," Syndrome replied, rolling his eyes. "They care more about your short dress than what they know to be implants."

"Last I checked, guys were totally into 'fake.' It's the new black," She added, sighing.

"Those are stereotypical guys. These are guys with class. There IS a difference, you know. Quality over quantity and all that jazz. Accept no substitutes."

Violet gave the man a strange look. "Quality over quantity? Accept no substitutes? Do guys have some sort of book written about what type of girls to get?"

"No, that's just the general idea I've gotten from people of my own social class. Why would you want to invest money in a girl and get them implants when you could just get some other chick with real ones? Lots of girls want rich guys. Apparently you're an exception, from what I've seen."

"Rich guys are snobs," Violet responded simply.

"I'm a snob? I'd hardly say so. Arrogant and snobby are two very different things, and I'd say I'm more immature than arrogant, even."

"Mmm... I wouldn't know. The only ever time I hung around you was when I was a teenager and I was literally hanging like Jesus on an electric-powered cross."

"Oh, come on. You gotta admit the whole revenge plot thing was pretty juvenile, even though I killed people."

"Oh, certainly. I just meant about the snobbishness."

"Like I said, I'm more arrogant than snobby. Actually, I think egocentric is an even better word."

"Bingo," she agreed. "You've got a big head. Literally and metaphorically." She winced, shuddered, and then muttered under her breath, "Not literally in that sense, please don't take it in that sense, God!"

"As I said before, snobby and egocentric are not the same thing. A snob is generally someone who has an exaggerated respect for upper-class people and looks down on lower-class people. I look down on everybody."

"But you look down on Supers more," Violet reminded him. "Which is reason enough for me to get the hell out of here."

"Look, I'm over that. I'm just a businessman now. Not that you believe me, but it's the truth."

"If you were just a businessman, you wouldn't be looking at my short dress like that. You're plotting. I can see it in your annoyingly blue eyes."

"What, I'm not allowed to check anyone out anymore? That's not fair."

"Who ever said life in America was fair?" Violet retorted.

"No one." Another shrug. "Look, if you really want to hightail it out of here, be my guest, but I like to think I'm fun to talk to."

The woman looked at the door for a moment, and then muttered, "Well, it's really freaking cold out there, and I really don't want to have to shove through the upper class in order to get out. So it looks like I'm stuck with your torture for a little longer."

"So what would you prefer to talk about? I really don't have any other reason to be here except to talk, so I figure we may as well make the best of this time."

"Something that doesn't include marital status, short dresses, or sex," Violet said bluntly. "Otherwise I may just change my mind."

"What have you been doing lately?"

"You have to ask?"

"Well, excuse me for not watching your latest exploits unfold on basic cable. Like I said, I'm over that," Syndrome lied.

"I didn't expect that you would watch that sort of thing, but I DID mention spandex earlier and I AM a Super."

"I realize that. I meant specific events. Spandex doesn't tell me what villain you saved the world from last Tuesday."

"How did you know I saved the world- well, not the world, but Metroville- last Tuesday? I thought you didn't watch basic cable?" Violet responded, snorting.

"I was using a random day of the week. I could've easily said last Wednesday as well."

Violet stared at the man. "You gain telepathy or clairvoyancy since the last time we met?"

"No. What, did you save the world on Wednesday too? So I could've probably said any day of the week and you would've accused me of watching you on TV, since you're always saving the world or whatever."

"No, this Friday I had the day off."

"Ooh, one day off. Who were the villains? Would I know them?"

"Probably, they're villains to our family like the Penguin is to Batman. I would've said the Joker, but that's YOU."

"But Batman never killed the Joker."

Violet raised her eyebrows. "And we never killed you."

"Yes, but until today, you were under the impression that you had. You can't reserve that spot for a dead man."

"I didn't. But because I was explaining it to you, who happens to be alive at this very moment, I switched things up a bit."

"Oh, sure. Are you positive you didn't know I was alive? I thought I was appearing regularly on television. Have you heard your dad yelling at the TV?"

"I've moved out since we last met. I wasn't planning on telling you that, but now that you've gone and asked, I'm going to have to figure out a way to safeguard my apartment." Violet looked uncomfortable. The music in the background was a live string quartet, absolutely dull. The rest of the room was abuzz with chatter, and for once she felt horribly out of place. "I think I may go disappear for a little while, actually."

"I'd prefer that you didn't."

"Why not?" She asked, a little less ready-to-jump than she was before.

"You intrigue me. You're much more interesting than your father, and you're deeper. I didn't have to talk to you all that long to be able to tell that." The villain's expression turned almost friendly. "Do you want to go get some punch? I'm parched."

"As long as it's not spiked. I need to be able to get myself home," She said, nodding.

"I already had a cup beforehand, and I can assure you that it's not."

"Alright, let's go then."

Syndrome led the way through the crowd to the table of punch and slipped a vial of something into the inside of his shirt out of Violet's line of sight. "Would you prefer I test it again and make sure?"

"Just in case, please. I can't afford to lose my head, literally or metaphorically."

The villain smirked as he took a cup of punch from the ladle and poured the contents of the vial into the rest of the bowl discretely enough that she wouldn't notice. "Well, it doesn't look discolored." Syndrome took a sip, then nodded. "It's fine."

"Okay," Violet said, taking the ladle and pouring her own cup, completely unaware of what had just taken place. She took a couple big gulps and finished off the cup. "Excuse me for drinking worse than a pig," She said to Syndrome. "You thought YOU were parched."

"I wasn't," he responded. "Thanks for making my plan a whole lot easier for consuming that so rapidly, by the way. I've been working on making a tasteless alcohol that's stronger than most. Now I just have to wait and see if it works. I'd say you have about five seconds before you go out like a light."

Violet stumbled, trying to get away from the supervillain before the alcohol took effect, but she was completely unsuccessful and ended up falling straight into his arms instead.

"Score one for Syndrome," he muttered as he carried the limp hero outside and put her in the backseat of his car before driving away.