Forbidden Moons-Run, Eddie, run! And don't get in cars with strangers, OH MY GOD, didn't your mother ever teach you that?
Andrea-Penguin is actually immortal. Somehow. Maybe Strange did something else to him? I don't even know...
Oswald is quietly scheming at the kitchen table, debating between docks (oh, the turning of tables, he's always been so fond of that) or a deathtrap (poetic justice, hard to resist) and wondering if there is a way to combine the two. Ivy is outside, fussing in the greenhouse, and the other two are…um…he's not sure, exactly. But the house is still standing, so everything must be fine.
Right?
Wrong. The kitchen door flies open and Miss Marquis, slightly singed and clearly on the verge of tears, hurtles in.
"Boss," she says, voice shaking, "I quit."
He does not look up from his notepad.
"No."
"But-!"
"No."
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her flail towards the door. If he listens closely, he can hear faint shouting. Well. That answers the question of 'where is everyone'. Good to know.
"They're going to burn the house down! Or incase it in ice, whichever comes first!"
He is working, GOD.
"Don't be dramatic. They're letting off a little steam."
"Yeah! Steam! Literal steam!" Oh, dear. She's not actually going to start crying, is she? Please no. "If you were hopin' they'd set aside their differences and make adorable elemental babies, they haven't!"
He's not even going to wander down that path of thought.
He takes a deep breath, counts to five, and gently sets his pencil down. He is not going to commit murder. He is not. He is going to be calm and rational.
Wait. She is, indeed, singed. When did that happen?
"What happened to you?" Her expression of disbelief would be comical if the shouting outside weren't growing louder. "Never mind…they'd better not harm the rosebushes, Ivy will never forgive them."
He should direct them towards a plant, actually, just to see what might happen. It could be funny. But he needs them…alas.
The individuals in question are in the front yard, and he really has no idea what the problem is now-they're not even shouting in full sentences. He's considering letting them be-the house is still standing, and if they get this out of their system now, it won't be a problem later.
But then an icy blast narrowly misses him and he can feel Miss Marquis' 'I told you so' behind him.
"What is going on out here?" he demands, making his way down the steps. Bridget looks appropriately cowed, Victor does not.
"This little brat-"
"This old bastard-!"
He doesn't care. He really does not care.
"Never mind! Kindly try to avoid bringing the house down around us, is all I ask."
"I cannot work with her." Victor seethes, and NO, he will not have this level of discord. He forbids it.
Perhaps Bonding Time (as Ivy puts it) is called for. He despises Bonding Time. It gives him a headache and takes him away from his revenge plans. However, if it keeps his house intact, he'll suffer through it.
"Miss Marquis."
"Sir."
"Go and fetch Ivy, and then go get the car. We are going out."
As much as it pains him to admit it, they can't exactly go anywhere decent, and the only place that doesn't incur new fighting is Dairy Queen. So here they are, in the line, and Oswald is thinking this might be the biggest mistake of his life.
Miss Marquis looks about thirty seconds from leaping out of the car and abandoning them forever, and he can't exactly blame her. It's tempting. In the back, Ivy is seated between Bridget and Victor, who are snipping at each other about the temperature of the car. Of course they are. There's always something.
He blames Ivy, and her insistence that they all get along.
"Boss, I really think I should quit."
"No." If he has to suffer, he's not doing it alone. "You're fine."
"But…"
"Stoppit, I'm here, come on!"
There's the sounds of a scuffle and Oswald quietly reaches for the radio knob. Miss Marquis stares at the large tree in the parking lot as though considering driving into it.
"Boss, maybe you should find a new town to crime lord in. Somewhere nice n' quiet. Like Chicago."
There's a muffled scream in the back seat-Ivy? Maybe?-and Chicago suddenly sounds very nice.
Why isn't this line going any faster? Who is up there, ordering enough food to feed an army? WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS?
"If I find blood on the seats, whomever is responsible will be cleaning it out with a toothbrush." he hisses. The scuffle stops for half a second before resuming, a little quieter this time. Oswald buries his face in his hands and wonders why. All he wants in life is order. Truly, that's all. And what has life given him? Overgrown mutant children.
He'll never complain about normal children again, even if they do irritate him.
A limb hits his seat and he can't find it in himself to twist around and see the damage. He merely reaches for the radio knob again and entertains the thought of blasting them all with a machine gun.
Yes. What a lovely picture. He'll have someone come and paint the occasion, title it 'Peace at Last' or something.
It is that, and only that, that keeps him anywhere near sane until they get to the little speaker.
"Welcome to Dairy Queen, what can I get for you?"
Arsenic, he thinks bitterly. Lots and lots of arsenic.
THE END