"Change your name, change your eyes
Become the one who I despise
If you are sad, and need to cry
Then turn around and go outside."
Blasteroid by Mastodon
The Powerpuff Girls in:
Life is What you Live
Chapter the Fifth,
The Great Deus Ex Machina!
It was around four or five in the afternoon of the night Jorden Søln was predicted to pass harmlessly by the planet. Bubbles had set off to work as though everything were normal, and, as far as she could tell, they were since, like most of the citizens of Townsville, she hadn't seen or heard of any news about the recent murders. Right as she landed in front of Dirtier Dancing, the blue Powerpuff girl was accosted by a familiar face.
"So this is where you work," said Boomer, "it seems like a fun place."
Bubbles was not one for rudeness, yet neither was she one for empty pleasantries with the enemy. So, in a curt yet sweet voice of the sorts only she could produce, Bubbles said, "Why don't you fuck off?" she then smiled and continued towards the door.
"Wait!" cried the young man, "I'm not here to cause problems, or anything like that. I just want to get to know you a little better."
At all times did Bubbles have a mien of innocence. Her mind was likewise eternally composed of pure thought, but there was no doubt that a subtle shift that took place within the girl whenever her sisters were about. She would regress back into that little five year old who played with dolls, and made secret contracts with the devil. Alone, or with people of unrelated blood, however, Bubbles would become as fierce and independent a woman as the ancient Samurai of feudal Japan. So don't dare to say that she was acting uncharacteristically harsh, dear friends, for as she stood now at this juncture, Bubbles was a wolf in solitude!
"What do you want then?"
Boomer stepped forwards with a gait that showed monomaniacal passion, "You!" said he, "Just you!"
Bubbles matched Boomer's progression with her own retreating steps. There was a terrible mark in the man's eyes. Something unseen, but non the less felt. He moved forward more.
"When I saw you before, I wasn't myself, so the words came out all wrong! But I tried! I tried to tell you! Then, when we were on the roof, I tried again, but I didn't know how!"
"What are you talking about?" asked Bubbles, backing up still further.
"Us!" shouted Boomer, "You and me! Can't you see? We're supposed to be together!"
"I don't even really know you, Boomer!" Bubbles took a few more steps back. She would have retreated more, but she was pressed up against the glass of Dirtier Dancing. She was about to fly away, but Boomer caught hold of her wrist.
"That doesn't matter. We're so much alike! We should be together, and your sisters should be with my brothers! That's the way it's supposed to be!" Boomer's eyes still contained the dull glow of singular obsession, and Bubbles noticed that the smile on his lips did not match those eyes.
"Let go of my arm, Boomer!"
"I'm in love with you!"
"I said let go!" Bubbles hit Boomer in the chest with the palm of her free hand, sending him across the street into a collection of garbage-cans. For better or worse, the blackened glass behind Bubbles shattered with the force of her attack, allowing everyone in the club a clear view of what was transgressing.
Bubbles turned, suddenly aware of the attention afforded her, she also heard a gentle clapping coming from above her. Two men floated down, not unlike angels, and landed before the former hero.
Brick was applauding Bubbles' actions. They had amused him greatly. Butch helped Boomer to his feat, saying as he did so, "I told you it wouldn't work." Boomer retained in his gaze that same passion, which seemed to be a grotesque mockery of love, but which was now joined by a scornful rage.
At the appearance of the Rowdyruff boys, the cluster of people within Dirtier Dancing became boisterous, and rushed to greet their heroes. Brick, with naught but a broad smile and winking eye, bestowed upon the crowd a calming effect, somehow easing their excitement while maintaining their affections. It came to be that, in a group of no less than twenty people, Bubbles was the only one who was unhappy to see these new heroes in all their gaiety.
"Dear sweet Bubbles. You simply must forgive my brother, Boomer. He hasn't the right mind for these delicate matters of social nature," said Brick, who, after a pause, went on to say, "But he is earnest in his approaches, though he comes off a little strong. Try no to let it bother you." Brick laughed.
The three men now stood together in a row, facing Bubbles. Behind her, the crowd stood, still overcome with childlike wonder. There was no space to retreat to, and Bubbles was beginning to feel much like a rabbit when stalked by three hungry wolves. There was a push coming from the Rowdyruff Boys, almost like their intentions were so powerful that they were made manifest. Like some sort of precognitive boxer, Bubbles could feel a fight coming, one that wouldn't be easy.
"What are you three doing here?" asked the girl.
"Why don't you finish getting ready for work. Then we can talk about it in more . . . comfortable surroundings," Brick said it like he was the pimp general of the fifth divisional hooker Calvary (Brick was unawares that not all strippers moonlighted as whores).
"I'd stop you from going in there even if you bought the place!" responded Bubbles. A murmur of "I wouldn't,"s flowed about the group behind Bubbles.
"You would try," said Brick, still commanding his tongue with boot-camp efficiency, now sans pimpitude, "But I wonder. Would you succeed?"
At that moment, Bubbles could feel in her deepest mental cavities that the Rowdyruff Boys were going to attack. They didn't, however.
"Stop looking so nervous," Brick's eyes, a hellish red inferno, seemed to look through Bubbles mind, picking up stray bits of data, and bobs of ideas, "it only makes you look cuter,"added he, Boomer agreed.
"We really aren't here to fight," said he, "we just want to talk with you about your sisters."
Despite this pretense for peace, Bubbles remained fastidious in her defense, "What about them?"
"We know that their trying to find a connection between us and the string of murders that have been going around, and we want them to help us help them."
"What?"
"We want to join forces. I know we've had problems in the past, but you must be aware that overall crime has gone down since our arrival. The timing of us showing up, and these killings is just a coincidence."
"It's too convenient to be a coincidence!" Countered Bubbles.
"And if you're right then that makes the threat even greater!" Brick's yell demanded acceptance, "If someone has planned this all to make it look like my brothers and I were the cause, then you, your sisters, my brothers, and me could all be in danger! . . . Help me protect everyone. Help me get your sisters to trust us."
Brick had never spoken more sincerely. His words waxed truth, filling the den of debauchery behind Bubbles with a guilty observance never before known to the patrons. Brick unfurled his hand, pleading for acceptance with his eyes as he did so, and Bubbles went to take it up in her own so that the two would become like a powerful chain. But she stopped before any contact was made. She felt as if a snake had just offered her an apple, so she stopped.
Brick's eyes, before displaying only a humble want for friendship, now shot like cannons, burning war sounds. In those sanguine depths war was eternally waged. Never for religion, money, or land, but for entertainment.
"You deny us? You deny me? ! So be it, little girl! I offered you the olive-branch, but you've chosen the arrow!"
The three Rowdyruff Boys moved as a single being. Unstoppable in their approach. Red, green, and blue, the boys' colors of choice, and also birth, merged into a single glowing point on the otherwise dim landscape. This light wowed the crowd, while simultaneously blinding them of the boy's actions. No doubt it was supposed to have a similar effect on our former hero Bubbles, but, whether by design or lucky accident, Bubbles retained full control of her abilities. The moment Brick declared battle with her, Bubbles shot straight into the sky, moving at speeds even she feared. Without looking back, nor with any doubts that she was being followed, it was time to find Blossom and Buttercup.
Bubbles hadn't the slightest idea of where to begin her search. Neither of her sisters kept a regular schedule with which Bubbles could track them, so the journey was more or less random. She started by heading back to her house. Her arrival was matched in its grace only by a jumbo jet crashing to the ground at full speed. Most of her house was destroyed before the boys even arrived, as Bubbles' landing had knocked the entire roof of her house off. Bubbles used her x-ray vision to quickly examine the contents of her home.
"Shit!" she yelled as her eyes informed her that she was alone. That soon changed as the boys crashed into a remaining portion of Bubbles' home, leaving only a pitiful shell of walls. Heat began to blast out of the boys' eyes in short bursts. Bubbles was able to deflect or doge most of them, but one caught her in the chest, knocking her through another piece of her home.
No time for rest, Bubbles. No time for pain! went the thoughts of our hero (she had only just retired from retirement). Bubbles refreshed the dimming sky with a new streak of blue, as she flew again. The Boys then threw their own paint on the orange, sun shy firmament.
Lasers began to fly with such a ferocity that the landscape began to remind older citizens of that one Laser Floyd concert they saw despite the objections of their parents. Bubbles now had to watch her back to avoid getting stung by these boiling arrows.
A quick interjection. In order for the reader to gain full appreciation of the hot power that emanated from the Rowdyruff Boys' eyes an analogy must needs be made. These blasts of heat could liquefy steel, render sand to glass, and scorch so severely as to instantly cure an Eskimo of their perpetual frostbite. All manner of apologies are put forth in order to acquire your forgiveness, and this sort of rude obtrusion into what is probably your most private of solitudes will not be tolerated by the author again. Thank you for your time.
While Bubbles was able to keep clean of these molten missiles (besides that one back at home), the many buildings of Towsnville were not so lucky. Many of the towering structure collapsed from the bombardment, and would have crushed those standing beneath if naught for Blossom and Buttercup's timely arrival. The two Powerpuffs weren't able to save everyone from the falling glass and steel, but they did keep the loss of life down below catastrophic levels.
Something had shifted. Whether it was fate's hand that moved, or the hand of the clock of Destiny, or maybe it was just the hand of a woman named Fate moving to check her watch which was built by a company know as Des-Tini (pronounced "destiny," though there are those among the human race who insist that the "S" in "Des" is as silent as that fat guy Bob. These people don't know what they're talking about, or are French. Maybe both). Before assuming that all these manual ramblings are just pseudo-philosophical jibber-jabber know that veritably, Blossom, Buttercup, Bubbles, and perhaps even Brick, Butch, and ol' Boomer, all felt an unnatural, yet unobtrusive push to being there, in that spot. Was there anything of actual importance at that one location, though? More likely it was not the spot they were in physically, but the spot they were in metaphysically. It could be that the hand that moved was a spiritual one, massaging away the toils of a short life lived long. The three Powerpuff Girls no longer felt ill at ease with their lot in life. They felt attuned with mother nature, or at least their city. The shadowy veils that had so long been hiding their true persona had been eaten up by a much larger breed of righteousness. It felt good. They felt good. They were good.
But this might all be the sloppy crap shoutings of an abstruse moron.
"Standing as equals, three kings meet with three queens-" began Brick.
"Oh, shut it, you puffed up smegma choker!" interrupted Buttercup, "You like to hear yourself talk more than monkeys like to jerk it!"
Brick was slightly taken aback.
"Very true," added Boomer.
"We try to ignore it," said Butch with a twitch.
"Judas! The both of you!" yelled Brick as he slapped his two brothers.
Before the three brothers could aggressively display their powers on one another, Blossom said, "I don't care how often you stoke the furnace, I just want to know how the three of you, who barely have half a wit to share amongst yourselves, managed to murder all those people without leaving a trace of evidence? !"
"I would love to tell you all about it, Sweet-nothings, but apparently I talk too much."
Buttercup rolled her jade/jaded eyes, "Let's just give em an ass whoopin' and force em to tell us!"
Brick laughed, "You're welcome to try," he met Buttercup with eyes that were locked, cocked, and ready to fire, "but I really don't think you can."
There was a twitch that ran a marathon through Buttercup, and it scored the gold medal because it was almost imperceptible due to its speed. It was something akin to the spasmodic tremors known well to Butch, but when put through the normally sane Buttercup filter it became ten times the omen. She bellowed a Valkyrie's song and charged the red-headed boy. Her counterpart had a different idea of how this battle was to take place, which is why he intercepted the girl, and pulled her down with him to the ground, trading seismic blows along the way. As if taking a cue from his brother, Boomer crashed into Bubbled, pushing her across the city in a tangled up sphere of blue light. It wasn't long before streaks of red heat began to fire from this azure ball of yarn.
Blossom remained floating across from Brick. For a moment they held, sizing the other up, until Brick made a motion with his hand that seemed to say, "Let us dance to this dirge of warrior's. Let us waltz these doomed steps," and so they did.
The dimming sun's melodic rays began to ease into a more lethargic scale. Nature's orchestra had long past its midday crescendo, and was just about packed up for the day. Unaware of Gaea's fading song, the six fought on, like modern titans in miniature form. The Girls seemed to be handling themselves better than the boys, but it was the city itself that took the most hits. It was falling apart in layers, almost like a snake shedding skin. Unlike that limbless reptile, though, the city was not refreshed with a shiny new epidermis (or scales).
The girls had tapped into a reserve of strength that made them seem not the least bit out of practice. This may have been caused by the audacity of their opponents, or it might have been fueled by a rage present in all people when forced into the despondent state of helplessness provided by deceitful cultural obligations, but made a thousand times more potent by the presence of chemical X. How many bankers and salary-men would put up with their superiors if they were powered by that very same mystery agent that flowed freely through the girls? In any case, however it was that this extra power came to them, the Powerpuff Girls were slowly gaining the advantage of the Rowdyruff Boys, as they re-familiarized themselves with their abilities.
A fight such as this one, if experienced through ocular means, would yield pathetic results, even with eyes resolute enough to best a gorgon in a staring competition. Even if one were to say, "Enough with these deceitful eyes of mine! I'll listen to the combat!" they too would be disappointed as the only thing to be heard was the boom of moaning buildings and the splash of breaking glass all coming together simultaneously like a concrete thunderstorm. But luckily we have at our disposal the most leisurely method of sensory appreciation (as you may have read before), language's artistic younger brother (or sister), the written word.
In order to maximize the effectiveness of this here spool of battle-ready words the story shall now diverge into three separate paths. The reader should keep in mind that all of the following events occurred at the same time, and should not be confused with an actual progression of story. In fact, it might be better for all parties to treat this next segment as though it were but an exaggerated exercise in the superfluous. Hell, you might as well think of the whole story this way.
Buttercup was first to engage in battle so it is only fitting that this narration focus first on her. After she and Butch tumbled from the sky at a comet's pace, bouncing off the glass and steel bones of skyscrapers on the way down, they crashed through the flat roof of a smaller building with Butch landing on top of her. While Buttercup took a second to recover from the sudden shock, Butch pressed on with his assault by smashing both his fists on the girl's chest, causing the two to fall through the ten stories of floor beneath them, blowing out every window on the way down.
Butch emerged from the building the same way he entered it. He then flew across the street, and fired several blasts of his heat-vision at critical spots in the structure, piercing the concrete and destroying the supports. The building shuddered, let out a rolling death moan, then folded in on itself like man who's skin submarine had just been kicked to pieces.
Dust from the fallen stone had blanketed the entire street preventing Butch from seeing the destruction he had caused. Still he shouted, "What's wrong, Buttercup? ! I thought you were supposed to be the tough one? !" His eye was twitching like a homicidal dancer with bullet-casing tap-shoes.
The response Butch received was not the one he was expecting. Truth be told he wasn't expecting any response. He heard what started out as a low growl that rapidly escalated to a roar. The dust was pushed away by this guttural sound. By the time it reached its pinnacle the street was clear of ocular disorientation. The crumpled prison that held Buttercup exploded off of her, causing the still floating Butch to cover his face lest it be marred by flying rock.
"I'm not tough!" Yelled Buttercup. Then she took to the air faster than the eyes of her enemy could react, grabbed Butch by the collar, and continued, "I'm just relentless!"
Buttercup ripped Butch from the sky, slamming him face first into the pavement. While he was spitting out chunks of gravel Buttercup took a fistful of his atramental hair, and dragged Butch across the ground fast enough to make any physicist question if matter really can't move faster than energy. Buttercup became like a train set so ardently to its steel rails that nothing less than a nightmarish explosion could upend her progression. So it goes without saying that the numerous buildings laid before her where plowed through like they were but cardboard caricatures of the real thing. When she did finally stop it wasn't because of any obstruction, it was because she had run straight out of Townsville, and the forested surrounding wasn't copacetic with Buttercup's fighting spirit. So she tightened her grip on the Rowdyruff's head, and threw him back towards the City as hard as she could.
While this tumultuous engagement was repaving the roads with Butch flavored tar, an equally heated battle was being raged by a significantly daintier woman, though, even she was rising to this cacophonous occasion. Boomer had caught Bubbles off guard when first he struck. She had managed to recover while tumbling through the air with her attacker, and began to heat up the sky with her laser-vision. Her aim was true, and undoubtedly painful, but Boomer was made invulnerable by his rage. The hurt of rejection, the embarrassment, too, were blinders, allowing the boy to see only what was directly in front of him.
Had this fight taken place years ago, Bubbles would be a jittery beehive of honey-stuck nerves. But during that peaceful interim, when she danced the night away instead of fought it, Bubbles had learned a new confidence that can only come from age. This allowed her to move with a precision matching that of spider knitting a web, ducking between the big, wrecking-ball swings of Boomer's fists, and landing plenty of little stings. Of course, the constant evasion of his attacks did nothing to quell the scorned anger of Boomer who, with each miss, redoubled his efforts. Sheer numbers rather than skill were what eventually let the Rowdyruff land a blow, sending the woman spiraling across the street. Boomer stomped towards the fallen Bubbles like a bull who, after too many drinks, turned into a riotous drunk.
Here many would probably think it best for Bubbles to tap into her "Hardcore" self, and match Boomer's anger with her own. Perhaps she would come out on top, then. But she chose instead not to. She rose to her feet, taking little notice of the painful swell in her jaw.
"Why can't you just love me? !" screamed Boomer.
Where to begin? Thought Bubbles as the boy demolished the spot she had just been standing in, "I don't even know you!" she said aloud.
"You don't need to know me! We're completely perfect for each other!"
A car exploded; a buildings fell apart like soggy crumb-cake; a lamppost became a lamp-ghost, all made room to happen during a single man's romantic plea. Also, a gargantuan display of superhuman power.
"Just cause you say that doesn't make it true!" Yelled Bubbles.
"I've watched you enough to know that it is!" So it turned out the handsome man had watched the innocent woman from afar. Every girl's fantasy until it happens in a real life scenario. Bubbles grew tiresome of the conversation. The fight, too, but mostly the conversation.
"I know you've been waiting for someone to come along and-" the sentence broke off from his lips as Bubbles produced an uppercut from her extensive repertory of combat maneuvers, which hit Boomer's chin and severed the head of his lexicon. Figuratively, mind you. Physically he nicked his tongue.
Boomer reeled from the attack. It wasn't the punch that hurt. It was his teeth, which had bit off the tip of his tongue, that was cause for alarm. Blood filled his cheeks and parted his lips. When his mouth opened the tide that fell out was not one to be romanticized by poets, nor was it one to be swam in. As soon as the life fluid was emptied from this boy's maw he screamed a short, withered scream better suited for victims of testicular collision. Body stunned, Boomer still had plenty of rage to make for combustion in his internal engine, so on he clattered in his armored suit of skin. Before Boomer could recommence his assault, however, Bubbles jabbed him roughly in the eyes.
Now partially blind, Boomer unleashed attacks in every direction, much like a belligerent blind man would in a room full of mannequins. Fleet-of-foot Bubbles slipped between the punches, squished her soft spots against him so as to be within tongue's length of his ear, and stripper whispered, "Want to hear a secret?" Still blind, and now horned up by close proximity with his desire, Boomer flushed his brother's shade and nodded his head with stiff vigor.
If a secret is composed of the passing shadows of silent words during a noontime eclipse when the guards are all asleep then what Bubbles told Boomer was the blazing sun's swollen cock shooting down cowboy piloted space-stations at teatime.
She screamed really loudly.
It wasn't a scream of pain, or of fear as seen in the horror films. It was a battle scream that ripped through Boomer's ear canal, pulverizing his ossicles, and drove a vibrating nail through his very bones. So loud was it that Boomer only heard the caterwaul for the first moment of its quickly fading existence. His inner ear burst after that leaving only the subtle ring of tinnitus. He felt it move through his body, very nearly shaking his molecules apart along the way. The windows surrounding the two exploded like bugs loured to a zapper on the bayou. Boomer's fall was done with only half that flourish.
At this point in the story any of you readers who were gamblers would be placing bets for this last battle. But we know that it is foolish for one to count their proverbial chickens before they hatch. Especially when there is a serial egg-crusher on the loose.
The other four fought in very circular motions. Blossom and Brick were much more linear yet more cautious. Every bull charge was followed by a serpentine retreat. Every motion registered by processors of the highest caliber, memorized in case the need for a counter was called. Always keeping their eyes focused, never giving more than necessary lest the other take advantage. Punches were short, motions were tight. To all the people watching it may well just have looked like an enchanted dance in the sky, something magical and romantic (a whole new world, if you will . . . of pain!).
Any fight, whether it be bare-armed or with katanas at sundown, is won with more than speed and strength. There are a myriad of factors such as precision, reach, style of fighting, that morning's breakfast, timing, endurance, state of mind AKA the rage O'meter, breathing, amount of light, direction of light, footing (rendered null due to flight), stratagem if there be one, luck, balance, if it presents itself the element of surprise, and of course how dirty you choose to fight (pro tip: hold a role full of quarters in your hand when you punch someone). Neither of these two contenders were cheating by any definition of the word, but they were aware of most of the other things on that list.
Neither could gain the upper hand, for all hands were otherwise busy with punching or blocking; occasionally wiping sweat away, but both participants were withholding large amounts of their power, waiting for that perfect moment to unleash hell. Brick saw that opportunity first. He landed a few light blows that threw off Blossom's balance, then he dropped all his weight and power behind a vicious downward haymaker, knocking the hero straight down to the ground.
Blossom landed with a demeaning thud, and bounced immediately to her feet. She noticed ominously that she had landed in a graveyard. "How convenient!" Brick yelled from above, "You may as well stay and die right here . . . not that it matters. This whole city will be a graveyard soon enough."
Blossom, who's mood has been soiled by the black rains of hatred for so long, felt her mind warp, like smoldering steel passed through a chilling current so that it retained its primary purpose, but lost its original shape. There was a faltering in Blossom, not of her spirit but of her reasoning. She no longer wanted to plan her attacks and conserve strength. The dragon residing in her chest awoke and unfurled itself from its tangled sleep. The smoke from its breath filled Blossom's lungs. Its huge wings smothered over compassion. Its fire became her own. Her inner goddess drew from its unholy sheath the dreaded sword of Shug'Nuggeroth, knit together from the bones of forgotten kings, and she was ready to decapitate a bitch!
Brick's prophetic words did not incite any verbal rebuttal from our hero. She brought both feet together the way one does when wishing to be returned home, but instead of clicking her heels, Blossom projected herself from the ground like an electric cannonball. Between her clenched teeth spilled small flames and huge rage. Her speed surprised and astounded Brick who had not been prepared to face such a direct attack. The boy was quickly overwhelmed by the onslaught, his defense proving to be no match for Blossom's full power.
We now return to your regularly scheduled fanfiction.
By the time the sun fully set the boys were piled together on the ground. Our three heroes stood a few feet away from them, lips slightly agape and spilling more breath than usual. They exchanged a few looks with one another. Blossom looked to Buttercup, who looked to Bubbles, who looked to Blossom, who then looked to Bubbles, who looked back to Buttercup, who then spun around a bit trying to find someone else to look at. Then she looked back at Blossom. Each felt that something was amiss, that battle was far too easy. Even as children the Rowdyruff Boys put up more of a fight than this. Blossom especially was anxious, being a pessimist will do that to people.
A divine hand snapped its equally divine fingers and the three boys began to rise from the paved slab they were so recently crushed into, looking as though they were cats just waking up from a lovely afternoon's nap. They stretched a bit, dusted themselves off, and looked pretty good considering (except Boomer who still had a little blood running from his ears).
"Well that was exciting." said Brick.
The girls' mouths parted like the Red Sea when Moses is in town. After a moment of brief shock, in which the girls looked between each other a few more times, Blossom mustered the gumption to speak, "Good. I would have been disappointed if that was all you had in you."
"Yeah, it's been too long since we've had a good fight," Buttercup said whilst rotating her shoulder, "I've hardly warmed up!"
Brick looked towards the western horizon where corona lashes fluttered one last lustful wink before resting beneath a starlit masque (read mask), "There's no point to fighting anymore. You've already lost."
"I demand to differ!" Yelled Buttercup.
The three boys closed their eyes as darkness wrapped the city in cold fingers. They began to change. Slowly, subtly at first, almost as if the change was something internal, like the sudden understanding of a far off philosophy that alters your life perspective. But as the metamorphosis went on they became more and more peculiar, more so on the outside than in. Their aura's, if such a thing exists, grew darker along with the sky. Four eyes shifted to a dark crimson shade, Brick's remained the same. Their skin took on an a lighter, almost sparkly complexion. Then they each sprouted a cape and top-hat.
"Bleh!" said the boys in unison.
"Oh my god," said Bubbles without wonder.
"Wait! Now you are the guy I fought the other night! What the hell just happened?" demanded Buttercup.
"We've evolved into something much greater than mere super beings!" Declared Brick in an almost pontifical sort of cry, "We've become immortal. Cold bodied to our hellish core! Unrestrained with our power under this starlit parade!" The fact that no stars could be seen within city limits matters little when waxing poetic, "We now live an un-life as children of the darkstar."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" said gruff Buttercup.
"Like most who speak with rhetoric, you fail to bring about any sort of clarity." said sagacious Blossom.
"I think -" began adorable (even in stripper garb can Bubbles manage a childlike cuteness. Maybe that's why so many people like to watch her dance . . . eww), "They're vampires!"
"Correct!" the three boys yelled in unison, they then added an extra, "Bleh!" to assuage any lingering doubts.
"Mother fuckin' vampires? !" yelled Buttercup, "But we just saw you in the sunlight!"
"Your knowledge of vampires is but a mockery of the truth. We do not burn in sunlight, nor do we sparkle! The true vampire returns to his original mortal form during the day. Fortunate for us then that our original forms are still brimming with power, though not near as much as our vampire form."
"Well isn't that convenient?" sarcastically voiced by Blossom, "I'm not sure yet how you pulled those hats out of you ass without us seeing it, but you can't be vampires because vampires don't exist!"
"Does the nonbeliever need more proof? Are the fangs and capes not enough?"
By now the streets were beginning to fill with average joes and normal nancys, all coming to wonder at the spectacle. Before them stood heroes of days gone by, and more contemporary heroes . . . who were now, by all appearances, vampires. Bitter irony! Those that were shunned came out to defend while those who were cheered now intend to dine on the town's collective face! Woe! Woe! Woe most of all to virile Frank who came outside to watch his heroes battle evil only to be snatched up and devoured in the blink of a wink by perfidious Brick. Woe, etcetera etcetera.
"Need you more of a demonstration? ! Shall I drink my fill of these poor fools? !" yelled Brick. Blood shook from his lips in thick streams. He dropped formerly virile Frank's body to the ground, which fell, no strings attached.
"Bastard!" Buttercup rushed towards the murderer, ready to unleash a bloody vengeance. She was met with the back of Brick's hand, and her body flew off like a broken winged bird. She then fell in a very similar fashion.
"Come, brothers! Let us exercise a bit before we dine!"
