A/N: Disclaimer at end.
It's becoming abundantly clear that every time I attempt to beta this some things comes up to stop me...and I mean that literally...some things. Ugly, creepy, hateful things. So here's chapter 10 while I still recall what the plot was. Sorry it's not going to be it's best.
Edit: Thank you's to Amethyst Asheryn and Dark Inu Fan for pointing out some errors.
Chapter 10: Zombie Jamboree
Seeing Bruce Wayne coming at him, Wally couldn't help but want to panic. It never really mattered whether Bruce was Wayne or Batman, in his right mind or left his mind; the older man was scary like some sort of Universal Parent of Vengeance when angry and that made Wally's body produce and dump into his bloodstream all sorts of overly excitable chemicals with no idea what to do with themselves than to start pushing things to move like 'now and this instant'. It was that Payload's Dog experiment thing Wally had once read about. The one with the bell and the food: conditioned response.
See Scowly Bruce = Utter Panic.
And since the best place to respond to the condition of utter panic was on a continuous running surface...
...
The frustrated conductor gaped as their supposed singer suddenly jump down from the stage.
Unfortunately, a graceful dismount it was not.
One foot landed on the edge of the table holding the large, crystal punch bowl and matching cups which sent the lot crashing to the floor. Something Wally figured afterward would never have happened if Alfred had let him wear decently soled boots while working at the mansion rather than these silly dress shoes with soles more slippery than a Rogue's.
Honestly.
The only thing God meant to be smooth as a baby's bum was what went on a baby's bum. You didn't put treads on the outside of a diaper, did you? Certainly not. Maybe speed plaster on a few decorative Flash-logo racing stripes to the contestants at the Baby Derby event during Flash Appreciation Day... but not treads. So why would you file down the craggy artwork on shoe soles until they were as smooth as an ankle-biter's backside? Just what genius thought up footwear that lacked traction?
Anyway, strictly because fashion was nonsensical most of the liquid landed on his head.
People screamed.
Piercingly.
You'd think he was dying because of a little mishap:
.
"Somebody call my laundry service!"
"Somebody call Paris Couture, I just bought these sandals!"
"Somebody call the waiters for more champagne!"
.
Okay, so maybe his welfare was not their first concern. These people are here to support charity? Give me a break.
.
"Somebody get a doctor! He's bleeding on the imported parquet! (Oh the humanity...)"
.
Bleeding? Morons. That was just the stupid champagne soda-ah...ah-AH!
Wally almost screamed like a girl when he saw the dark liquid dripping down from his head.
Yeah...'almost' is a rather vague term. When you think of it, the human larynx has the capability of a range of sounds. Take for instance, the difference between a young girl's and a grown woman's scream: a woman's has a bit more deepness to it. Richness of tone.
(Unless it was Faye Wray regretting her date with King Kong. That woman could screech like a banshee with a broken toe.)
Now a boy's scream was deeper than a woman's scream -don't let those boy's choirs fool you. They might sound girlish, but to a practiced ear, they really are just on the higher-pitched side of the cusp of manhood.
Much like Wally's scream. It might have -sounded- girlish...but it wasn't.
Not to a practiced ear.
Wally's scream was -almost- like that of a girl, but was really like a boy's on the macho side of the cusp of manhood.
...
Anyone who claimed differently was going to get a punch in the snoot.
Oh wait...that wasn't blood at all. That was...
Green eyes widened in horrified realization.
Wally snatched at a silk table doily while telling himself that it wasn't detrimental at all to a man's self esteem to be seen wearing a babushka when the alternative was for his body to be in a state of mortal peril via being used for batarang target practice simply because Murphy's Law hated speedsters with red hair and Personal Circumstances were out to get him.
Meanwhile, Wayne had (not that this was by any means unusual) abandoned his date of the evening in order to stalk off after a criminal.
...
Enough was enough!
His guests were talking about this party and not for the right reasons. In the space of one evening, a lone human being had not only managed to create a caviar bombardment on multiple patrons, publicly accused an (admittedly promiscuous) woman of being a demonic slut -and- attacked Selina with silverware, but he'd also succeeded in thoroughly stuffing up the night's collection of music -including his traditional song request- so badly it was unrecognizable. One, simple, song! His mother's favorite song! Bruce was in a bad mood and wanted an explanation from somebody as to why this evening had become a shambles due to the activities of a single person. Stuff like this just didn't happen to Bruce Wayne. To Batman, sure, and not just with his Rogues what with the crazy people they let into the Watchtower roster like Booster Gold, Plastic Man, and Flash. Any of those three allowed to roam unsupervised were a recipe for disaster in The Watchtower. That's why he'd banned the first two from coming anywhere near his home. Bruce would have banned Flash as well if he wasn't a fellow Founder and upon Clark's insistence that the man was not all that bad.
Which proved once again that Super Intelligence was not on the long list of Superman's biological advantages.
Batman + Plasticman/Flash/Booster Gold (in) The Watchtower = migraine. It was a simple, mathematical equation.
Now here at the upper level of the Wayne mansion where Alfred kept out an eagle eye for trouble? Bruce's refuge from insanity?
Stuff like this wasn't supposed to happen (unless Flash was about, but he wasn't so that was moot.) The Mansion was Bruce Wayne's castle of sanity.
That was, until recently -specifically- the past month. Little, aggravating things that gradually increased like dramatically larger laundry and food bills, Alfred and Tim acting like they expected the roof to fall down at any moment. The roof actually falling down at one moment. Sonic The Hedgehog gaming software left on auto repeat play down on the Batcomputer until a sixteenth of the main hard drive had been filled with win scores. Just odd things that had culminated into...
The so-called singer had jumped down and created more havoc. That man was a walking catastrophe. Possibly right on par with West..who was probably still pretending to be unavailable for League missions just to piss Batman off.
East...West. His life was being besieged from both sides like some sort of reenactment of the Charge of Light Brigade. All he needed now was for a Mr. South and Mrs. North to show up and crack the Batcave ceiling.
Bruce couldn't see Ground Zero very well as yet as too many other people were blocking his view; however, the sound of crystal shattering and his guests screaming gave him a hint that all did not bode well.
By the angle of Clark's spit curl, this additional catastrophe hadn't helped his disposition! Still, Mr. East apparently was badly hurt and in need of medical aid. He couldn't deny a man that no matter how irksome he'd proven to be.
Bruce shouldered his way past the last few onlookers, ready to offer medical assistance.
Instead he stood there gaping like a fish out of water as East frantically tried to hide his soda-soaked hair with a flimsy cloth now thoroughly stained a deep black.
Bits of lank ginger-orange peeked out from the ruined cloth.
At that moment Bruce Wayne had an epiphany that not even the strongest Martian manipulation could bury even if said Martian had not gotten himself three sheets to the solar winds a tad earlier:
.
Blue-Black/Ginger-orange.
East/West.
Walking catastrophe/Running catastrophe.
Most Intelligent Man Alive's Home/Fastest Man Alive in same.
.
"You!" Bruce snarled in a fit of rage. "I'm going to kill you!"
Only it came out as a sort of strangled growl.
"YAUWr! AHmGAHgTaKIYAUW!"
Oh hell! Batz was standing over him, growling unintelligibly like a mindless beast! Dear God, it really was too late: the best and brightest of the League had become a mindless, slavering, carnivorous zombie Ink-U-Batz!
Time to beam back up to the U.S.S. Watchtower.
-"J'onn!"-
-"What goes on, Ron?"-
-"Teleport me out of here quick!"-
-"No can do, Stu."-
-"But...! J'onn, this is Wally. Are you okay?"-
-"J'onny is better than okay, Ray. He is B.O.O.M.M'd."-
-"B.O...Bombed Out Of... You're saying you're stinko while on Monitor Duty? J'onn, if Batz finds out you are screwed!"-
-"It's okay, Wala-Wallabingbang. I have a designated driver in hand.") J'onn smiled fondly at the tool standing up in his glass of fermented pineapple juice. -"Right, Phillip?"-
-"Let me get this straight. I'm going to die in such a mangled configuration that will make for one conversation piece of a coffin, and you're dating a screwdriver?"-
-"Well, if you are going to insult him..."-
-"No, J'onn! Don't hang up!"-
*click* *btzz*
So his best escape route was soused. No biggie. He had alternatives.
"Help?"
The band members shrugged and started playing the famous Beatle's song.
"..." Well, heck. Not exactly what he had in mind, but it was kind of motivating.
.
Mr. Hassex stood helplessly watching as Mr. East (who's hair was now a calico of ebbing ebony and glistening ginger) scrambled to his feet and started dodging around the patrons. The man was heading in the general direction of the orchestra's exit way -breaking into a warbled version of the ongoing tune as he went- an irate looking Bruce Wayne in hot pursuit. West sounded terrified.
.
"When I was younger, so much younger than today,
I never needed anybody's help in any way.
But now those days are gone, I'm not so self assured,
Now I find I've changed my mind and wanna open up these doors!"
Grabbing the two handles, Wally yanked them apart and ran-
-straight into a very rotund man bearing a drink in one hand and an umbrella in the other. The collision sent him bouncing off the fellow's waistcoat.
"Help me if you can, I'm feeling down..."
Damn it, he was falling. The urge not to do so took over. He reached out to steady himself...
"And I do appreciate you being round."
Thankfully, due to the man's girth there was plenty of 'opportunity' to grab hold of something. The fat man's champagne drink slopped from the side of the glass when Wally snagged him by his jacket lapel. This caused his whole body to pivot and half swing around in a partial circle until he struck the man's back. The mass of fat at that side stopping him from doing a face plant into the tiled surface like some form of over-sized dance floor air bag. It was a pity his right foot landed smack into the wetness of the spilled champagne, sending that appendage sliding out from under him. Something small went flying from his jacket pocket onto the floor.
*quack*
The obese fellow raised an eyebrow upon seeing the object. He smiled. One of the most nastiest, avarice-ridden smiles Wally had ever seen. He turned his head to see what the man was looking at and felt a chill go down his spine.
Oh no! He scrambled to get his feet back into a usable position.
"Help me get my feet back on the ground..."
Flash Ducky! His silicone sidekick was in trouble!
The man tried to push him aside, intent on getting to the small mass of yellow and red rubber wearing a batwing cape. Wally pushed back and did a somersault dive for Flash Ducky, snatching up the bath toy and regaining his feet in one acrobatic move. Now he had his good-luck pal back, but was very turned around. Which direction to take? This was important because the would-be toy kidnapper was taking aim at him with his...umbrella? That fired ammo? Seriously?)
Somebody has been watching too much Harry Potter.
Just to be on the safe side, Wally risked a bit of super speed in order to plug the weapon's barrel with some extra gooey and patently delicious Macadamia Nut Butter.
Which was a damned crime right there.
"And now my life has changed in oh so many ways,
My independence seems to vanish in the haze."
(Gods...was that Ink-U-Batz gaining on him from behind the enraged carnivorous beach ball with a bunged-up ballistic 'brella?) That decided that. He took off in the opposite direction.
"But every now and then I feel so insecure,
I know that I just need you (J'onn!) like I've never done before."
-"J'onn!"-
Instead of a live-time feed, canned music started coming over the pre-recorded telepathic message:
-" Moon Reaver.."
"This is J'onn J'onzz. He regrets to inform you that he is not in right now as he has put in for and signed his own extended vacation release. Please leave a message after the song...
"...Two drifters lonely for their sister,
Shining brighter than the sun.
We're after just revenge: Earth's end,
It's just round the bend,
My scummy blue-skied friend,
(...via meteor-bombardment trends)
Moon Reaver, you'll see."-
*beep!*
By the time the message was over, Wally had reached the side door and was turning the knob. Escape was in his grasp.
Crap! Ollie?
A cross-eyed Ollie Queen was standing in the middle of the threshold, moaning like one of the undead with his hands over his crotch. A smug Dinah was still in the act of bringing down her bent left knee. She smiled nastily at the archer. Both of them were inadvertently blocking his escape.
Or was it accidental?
Was Queen a victim of zombification as well as Bruce? Had Dinah been turned into a Sucky by Selina in order to double the speed of her takeover?
Black Canary sure the hell looked rather demonic as she preened, gloated rather smugly at her handiwork.
Wally backed away from the moaning Green Arrow only to bump into someone else. He stammered an apology, but the guy looked drunk.
Come to think of it...was it his imagination or was everyone but the supernatural culprit staring at him with glazed looks?
Oh man...the Suck-A-Bus had been busy. She'd turned the entire gala into a-
"Zombie Jamboree!" the beleaguered West exclaimed. (He was trapped in a creepy old mansion with zombies!)
The orchestra members paused and switched tunes from The Beatles to Harry Belafonte.
Wally turned and ran in another direction, swerving around the various 'zombies' in what had become a mad dance for survival. Unconscious Brain switched to auto-pilot in order to distract Conscious Brain from approaching death. The harried speedster started singing along to the new music, mentally adding his own spin to half-remembered lyrics.
"It was a Zombie Jamboree,
Took place at a Gotham benefit bee.
It was a Zombie Jamboree!
Took place at a Gotham benefit bee."
(Duck, twist, leap, spin! Cannot let the Zombies win!)
"Zombies from all parts of The Mainland:
Most of whom once denture'd Geriatrians.
Although the reason started Congenial,
They got hexed by Ms. Bacchanal.
And I not be seeing..."
(Where the hell was Tim? Where the hell was Superman? Where the hell was Buffy the Vampire Slayer?)
Finding himself in front of the orchestra's service door, Wally flung it open so hard the outside handle left a dent in the plaster before it swung halfway back from sheer momentum.
Oh no!
Dick and Tim were on the other side, frozen in horror like Wally was the Herald of the Apocalypse standing before their eyes.
Dick started slowly turning blue; a pale Tim reached forward and yanked the door shut again. The lock clicked.
God, even Nightwing and Robin were among the soulless!
"Their Lips a'smack; thoughts of belly,
J'onn don't give a damn, so I'm dead already.
Oh, Heck! Brain's a snack; legs are jelly,
At the Zombie Jamboree."
(Crap! Stupid, damned Sucky Lady at 2 o'clock!
Cackling evilly and reaching out for whatever she could grab.
Go ahead...laugh it up. Just keep those suction lips and hands off!)
"One female demon wouldn't behave
See what a mess of things, she's made.
In one hand's got Bruce all dumb;
(On the other hand she wanting my bum.)
This singer believing all not fine,
'Cause Zombies are inviting for dinnertime.
This speedster had this to say:
T'would a pleasure to make my get-a-away."
(Ha! Made it! Now I just have to run like...)
A grim faced Zombie Alfred was standing in front of the double wides, holding a mop and bucket, blocking his escape. Wordlessly, he held out the implements of torture.
(Hell.)
Gulping, Wally did an about face and renewed his swerving dance, taking another direction, eyes wildly looking for a safe route. He saw only chaos everywhere.
Man, it was a good thing he was about to be eaten by a dozen mindless zombies. Otherwise he'd have to face something far, far, worse...
"WALLACE RUDOLPH WEST, YOU COMPLETE AND UTTER IMBECILE!"
Namely, a completely rational, yet utterly pissed off Bruce (Batman) Wayne.
Disclaimers: Zombie Jamboree was sung by Harry Belafonte; Help by the Beatles. Changes to the lyrics were my own twisted brain's idea. I don't know who owns Buffy the Vampire Slayer or rubber duckies, but they must be insanely rich by now. DC owns Justice League and Batman.