Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Decided to continue this. Thanks to reviewers, and thanks to Lady Shadiait and The Red X for ideas and inspiration. This was written under the influence of the dreaded Bloody Mary and an espresso or five, so be warned…
The Perils of Food 'Shopping'
V's daily schedule all depended on either his plans or his whims. Since all his plans were ready (the Old Bailey had a week left to 'live'), V was free to the vicissitudes of fate. So to speak. So imagine his surprise when he opened the fridge to find that he had run out of milk. Of course that ruined the whole patriotic-British-tea thing, so there was only one thing to do.
This was to beat the crap out of any unfortunate antique suits of armour that happened to be stupid enough to be standing around at the time.
When he had released all his pent-up rage to find that he'd run out of bread too, he decided on a more… practical approach.
Time to go shopping.
VvVvVvVvV
The warehouse was large and somewhat foreboding, something it was very proud of. Wouldn't you be, if you were just a building made out of scrap metal that housed a very large supply of non-rationed food, illegal or otherwise? V certainly thought so.
If only buildings could talk.
Fortunately, before V could classify himself as being legally mad, he stopped the track of thought and concentrated on what he was doing, which was to look left and right before crossing the road, and somehow managing to look like a tourist in the process. It wasn't his fault that the British drove on the wrong side of the road… the wrong side in his eyes, being the right side in everyone else's.
So far, so good.
Next procedure: any Fingermen around? No. Why are they called Fingermen? Why not London Police? Why not Sutler's Secret Army?
Because, V, then they wouldn't be so secret, would they now?
Reaching the warehouse, he looked around again. Nothing. He scaled the smooth wall of the warehouse, something only V can do because of his fancy superpowers. They were called superpowers since V had gotten his gloves on a copy of Spiderman, banned for being heretic to the beliefs of spiders… sometimes V wondered who in the government made the excuses, and he often wondered if they were crazy, because they sure weren't prime examples of sanity like he was.
V, instantly getting his balance on the roof, looked over the edge. He was something like fifteen feet away from the ground, a height that would make anyone but him slightly dizzy if they were standing on a slippery roof. He got out a saw and started cutting a hole to jump into the warehouse through. Sure, it wasn't practical, it wasn't subtle, but he saw it in a gangster movie and thought it was cool, so screw it.
Landing without any broken bones (or masks), he looked around once more and walked a few steps, stealthily of course. He couldn't get very far because his mask was two inches away from a Fingerman's face.
Oh, my.
The Fingerman blinked. V stared.
"Let's get on with it, then," V said in his cool way before killing the man with a move that he stole from one of the DVD's in his Steven Seagal collection.
"He wasn't much fun…"
V turned around, just to see five more Fingermen. Five Fingermen with Uzis.
Oh, bugger.
"OPEN FIIIIIIRE!" The man in the middle shouted before one of V's throwing knives found itself comfortably lodged in his throat.
V dodged every bullet.
The other men stopped, looked at the two fallen Fingermen. It had only just registered.
"Oh shit! This one's good!"
"Yes I am, ol' chap."
The words had barely left V's mask and two more Fingermen were on the floor.
They make them too slow these days.
The remaining two were left speechless, and after a moment opened fire. V sighed, jumped off the wall in true Matrix style, kicked one to the ground, ducked, and beheaded the last Fingerman left standing with a particularly well-aimed throw.
The Fingerman pinned down under V's foot whimpered.
"Please, have mercy…."
V perked up at this.
"Merci? You speak French? Je voudrais un peu lait, s'il vous plait!"
"What?"
V got annoyed at this. Incompetent service drove him (further) to the brink of insanity.
So he killed him.
Finally being able to have a look around the warehouse, he exhaled. Trying to remember moves from so many movies was tiring. V considered himself as someone who wasn't influenced by movies at all. Uh-uh. Not him.
Damnit, stop laughing at me! He 'told' his 'inner voice'. V considered himself perfectly sane, too.
However, all notions of supposed sanity vanished when he realised what warehouse he was in. All he'd wanted was some nice, semi-skimmed, homogenized milk and some whole-grain bread and possibly pasta… but alas, this was not so.
"NOOOOOOOO!"
He grabbed a passing Fingerman and told him, in true V style:
"Life is but a walking shadow, a poor player who struts and frets his hour upon the stage and is then heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing," as an afterthought, he added, "Except the joys of semi-skimmed milk."
"Please kill me."
V did so, with gusto, because the reason of his madness was due to the fear and bane of every grown man's intellect and ego…
He was in the warehouse full of 'feminine products'.
A/N: Well, that turned out… meh. Review and give me your two cents/pennies/yen. The speech in italics is from Macbeth. V likes Macbeth, and he is very over-dramatic, so it seemed very appropriate.