My late Christmas/New Year present to y'all. Hope you enjoy!
Thanks to Slipgate for his awesome beta-reader-ness.
Chapter Two
". . . and then, I shall plant my ferocious army of robotic sea creatures in the oceans! My shark's reinforced-titanium teeth will be able to bite open and sink the toughest ship, and my octopuses - octopi - octopisces - whatever - their laser eyes shall be capable of downing any aircraft! International trade will plummet! Chaos will spread like a bad case of the measles! The world will be mine!"
Drakken grinned at his captive audience. Well, they weren't really captives, since he wasn't holding them hostage or anything. They chose to be here, listening to him explain his latest evil plan and marveling at his brilliant superior (superiorly brilliant?) mind. Dementor and most of his henchmen, Duff Killigan, and some blurry-faced people he didn't know, but who were obviously fans of his work - they were all paying attention in a way he would have quadrupled Shego's paycheck for. Nodding and making little impressed noises in all the right places. Eyes in big, admiring circles. Not even snickering when he stumbled over his words. It was sheer bliss - he liked that word, bliss. . .
He threw back his head and laughed his most villainous laugh, so long and loud and booming he almost scared himself. (He loved doing that.)
That gave him a warm, happy feeling in his stomach, next to the brownie and the punch. Drakken hugged his arms over his chest so he could hang onto it. He didn't want it to leave.
"That is a most BRILLIANT PLAN," Dementor hollered. "I surely wish I had THOUGHT OF IT FIRST!"
Drakken grinned bigger than he'd thought his mouth could ever go. Sure enough, Dementor was jealous. So jealous he was admitting how amazing his plan was! Could this night get any better?
Still - Drakken frowned - Dementor didn't have to yell that for the entire room to hear. What if some bad, uncreative person overheard and - and - and stole his idea? The thought was so terrible, he almost gasped out loud.
"Yeah, but - shhhh!" Drakken tried to press a finger to his lips, but that was suddenly hard - his hands were shaking a bit. Must have been from the excitement. "Shhh-shh-shh!" He hissed through his teeth, feeling saliva shoot out of his mouth. "It's a secret!" he added in as whispery a voice as he could manage. "A secret plan. Got it? Got it? Got it?" He bulged his eyes at Dementor to make sure he got it.
"Ja, of course," Dementor said with a big smile. "Mine lips have ZIPPERS!" He ran a finger across his lips like he was zipping them shut, then pretended to lock them and throw away the key for good measure.
Drakken burst out laughing. He'd seen people do that before - lots of times, in fact - but it had never been hilarious like it was now. How could he have ever considered this nice man with the great sense of humor as an enemy? "You know," he admitted happily, "I used to hate you, but now I can't remember why."
Dementor's smile grew even bigger. Even his mouth was square, which was incredibly funny, Drakken realized. "I am so glad to HEAR it!" he cried, sounding every bit as delighted as Drakken felt. "Let us let bygones be themselves!"
Drakken bumped around in his brain for a reply to that. He wanted to find some ingenious, thought-provoking. . . uh. . . thought. Maybe something about forgiving your enemies and living in peace, something from those anti-war rallies he used to see on TV when he was little - but all that came out was "Yes!"
Dementor didn't look at him like he'd said something stupid, though. Matter of fact, if his smile got any bigger, it would slide right off his face. Now that would be funny. "I propose a TOAST!" he shouted. "To our newfound friendship!"
Oh. Toast. That meant they clinked glasses. Proud of himself for remembering that - his head kinda hurt - Drakken grabbed his glass and held it high. Not too high, though, since Dementor was so short, and he needed to be able to reach it.
Dementor gave him a playful scowl. "Oh, Drakken, you silly boy." Normally, those words would make prickles poke up on the back of Drakken's neck, but Dementor said them friendly-ly - friendily - whatever - he didn't sound mean. "Your glass is almost empty. You need to get a FRESH one if you are going to MAKE A TOAST!"
Oh. Drakken blinked down at his glass and felt himself go cross-eyed. He didn't know that was a rule. But, as much as an evil genius as he was, he hadn't had a lot of experience with toasts. Dementor sounded like he knew what he was talking about - he was probably right. "Okay," he agreed.
He reached for the ladle, and then stopped. . . was he left or right-handed? He suddenly couldn't remember.
Why had he just thought that? Drakken shook his head, hard, trying to fling away the fuzzy feeling. He was left-handed. Had been for his entire life, except for about twenty minutes in second grade, when that one substitute had insisted that all kids could make their right hand dominant if they just tried hard enough. But she was wrong, because he'd tried as hard as he could, but he still smudged all his words and his real teacher couldn't read what he wrote when she was grading the next day. It was the only time he ever got below a B+ on a science test.
Now, spelling tests, those he flunked all the time, but. . . why was he thinking about this? Drakken flashed his best villainous snarl at the memory and moved on.
He grabbed the ladle and - whoa, that was strange. He was holding the thing - could feel its cold metal even through his glove - but it looked like his hand was going straight through it. That wasn't even scientifically possible.
Drakken blinked twelve times in a row and brought his right hand, the ladleless one, up to his eyes. He scrubbed at them with his fists until his eyelids hurt. When he opened them again, what he saw made sense: his left hand, with his fingers wrapped tightly around the ladle like he was expecting it to run away. That was - Drakken chuckled to himself - a little silly. It was an inanimate object, and inanimate objects couldn't move on their own, even if they were an amazing shape - like a giant spoon - and very shiny.
Anyway. He scooped punch into the ladle, dumped the ladle into his glass and then his fingers slipped and the ladle fell into the punch bowl, splashing him and soaking in a splotch on his lab coat.
But he wasn't embarrassed. Not tonight. He was feeling way too good to let it bother him. He felt warm and content and a little bit sleepy, the way he did after a big dinner. He threw back his head and laughed with all the joy bubbling up inside his stomach.
His audience threw back their heads and laughed, too. Not we're-making-fun-of-you laughs. The way you laughed when you were sharing a joke with your Very Best Friends.
Drakken felt himself glow even brighter. He drained his glass in five big chugs. Mmmm. That punch must have been an acquired taste, like Mother always used to say about broccoli, because this glass tasted a lot better than the last one. The kick that had made him cough was gone. Kick, cough, hone. Kick, cough, gone. That sounded funny - funny ha-ha and funny strange. Like one big, long, silly word. Kickcoughgone.
Drakken licked some of the punch off his lips and savored the taste. It was sweet and juicy, like grape soda but - better somehow. A lot better.
Yeah. He hiccuped a little - must have drunk the punch too fast. Drank? Drunken? Dranken? Hey, that almost sounded like his name. Dranken. Drakken. Dranken. Drakken. Kickcoughgone. Drakken laughed again and, just like last time, everyone laughed with him.
"Laugh and the world laughs with you," Mother used to tell him. Turned out she was right. She usually was, much as he hated to admit it.
And to think he'd been worried about having no one to hang out with tonight! Well, look at him now - he was popular. He was - what was that teen slang phrase he'd learned a while back? - off the henhouse or something. He was big man on campus. He was rockin' it!
()()()()()()()()()
He was - dizzy.
Drakken put his punch glass down. It was hard; stupid table seemed to be bending away from him - and put both hands up to the sides of his achy head. The room was starting to spin in circles, like some fun house at an amusement park, only it wasn't fun. His stomach wasn't just warm anymore, it was hot. Not exactly upset, but it had definitely stopped being happy.
"So, anyway -" Drakken licked his droolly-feeling lips and tried to ignore the whirling room. Probably just another one of Hench's ridiculous publicity stunts, like the giant inflatable death ray last year. "That's why I think lightning bug bulbs should be replaced with fluorescents." He gave twelve quick nods to emphasize the genius of that idea. "Much more energy-efficient."
Drakken glanced down at Dementor to see how he was taking that and felt his eyebrow furrow in confusion. His former rival looked really funny - even shorter than usual. Much rounder. Blue-tinged instead of yellow. And his head was shaped almost exactly like a lampshade.
Dementor's henchmen nudged each other and laughed, and Drakken laughed with them, even though he didn't get the joke. Maybe those were just oh-wow-this-guy-is-brilliant-I'm-so-amazed laughs. He hoped so. He really did.
The funny-looking Dementor didn't laugh, though. Didn't even move, which was very surprising. Usually he could be heard cackling, louder than any of the villains except, of course, for Drakken himself - a noise as shrill as a ten-year-old girl's, but thick with evil that gave Drakken a few goosebumps. Used to give him goosebumps. Before they became friends.
Monkey Fist ran by just then, down on all fours like Commodore Puddles, and distracted him from Dementor's nonlaughingness. Monkey Fist was always interesting, with the fur on the backs of his hands and feet and the way he ranted about something called "Mystical Monkey Power." Drakken could never figure out his motive, either. Did he want to be a monkey? Conquer the world? Be a world-conquering monkey?
But tonight Monkey Fist fascinated Drakken even more than usual. There were two of them - no, three - all identical. All moving at the same time, in the same way. Could you spontaneously duplicate yourself if you had Mystical Monkey Power, whatever it was? If you could, he wanted some!
Four DNAmys (Amies?), all with big smiles on their freckly faces, bolted after the Monkey Fists. He knew that smile, the one that made you feel like you ruled the world when she beamed it at you. The one that made your knees go weak and your stomach get the most wonderful flutters in it.
Drakken pushed away the hurt that twinged at his heart and replaced it with bitterness. DNAmy was nothing but another villain whose partnership with him had ended in disaster, just like it had with Duff Killigan that one time a couple years back. Seeing Killigan didn't make him want to cry. Why should DNAmy be any different? Even if her hands were gentle and soft, and she did smell like dryer sheets and cookie dough and home. . .
None of that mattered anymore, he knew. What mattered was that there were four of her running around, and she didn't have Mystical Monkey Power. Just genetics knowledge, which meant there had to be a scientific explanation. There always was, Drakken reminded himself.
He felt his face spring into a smile. There was obviously a cloning machine somewhere around here! And he was going to find it, test it, and if he was happy with the results - Drakken paused for a wicked chortle - steal it. Oh, he was so evil, sometimes he almost scared himself.
Drakken whipped his head around eagerly. The whole room blurred, seemed to tilt dizzily away from him, and for a terrible second, he was sure he was going to fall on his face. He stuck his arms out behind him and fumbledty-fumbled for the table. His fingers caught the edge of it, and he curled them around it and squeezed as hard as he could. Panting, he let his eyes search the room, careful to keep his head still so that - whatever it had been - wouldn't happen again.
Hmm. Drakken pulled his forehead into folds and wrinkled his nose against the pain that shot through his head. He didn't see anything that resembled a cloning machine. No giant boxes with glass doors or huge curtains. No wonderfully ominous-looking rays. Not even little helmets with buttons and levers, like the Attitudinator.
"Hmmm" turned into "humph!" It must have been hidden away in some back room. Or maybe it was disguised as something else, the way he had once made a giant electricity controller that looked exactly like a sofa. Which had worked great until woke up at 4:15 AM with a nightmare and had gone out to sit on the couch to calm down but had forgotten which was the real one and which one was the Doomsday device. Drakken shuddered at the memory. Lost his favorite pair of bunny slippers that night.
Anyway. He shook his achy head to get it back on track. He'd have to go up to Jack Hench, who was all the way across the room with five clones of his own, and ask him where it was, and he wasn't sure he could do that. He was woozy, and his legs felt like woot needles. Net woodles.
Oh, come on! Drakken shook his head, trying to get it to start working again. Wet noodles - that was it!
Drakken turned around to see if maybe Dementor wouldn't mind asking Hench for him, since they were pals now. Six eyes stared back at him. Green, narrow eyes that reminded him of a cat's.
He blinked. Shego?
More like Shegos. She'd tried the cloning machine, too, only it must have malfunctioned, because the two other clones were only half of a person, and they were still sort of attached to the edges of the middle Shego. Very odd sight. Especially since Shego had never been a fan of cloning. She always turned down his demand - err, his offer - to duplicate her. He wasn't sure why - Kim Possible wouldn't stand a chance if she outnumbered her.
Well, maybe she had finally changed her mind. Maybe she had gone and cloned herself as a surprise present for him, a really late Christmas gift. . . or a really early one, depending on which Christmas it was for. The thought didn't make him as happy as it should have.
Drakken forced his trembling lips into a smile. "Hey, Shego," he said. Tried to say. His tongue felt too big for his mouth, thick and slimy. "Some party, eh?"
Shego gaped at him, the way she had when he'd gotten his hand stuck down the bathtub drain. It was her Drakken-you-can't-possibly-be-this-dumb look, and it made no sense to use it right now. "Dr. D," she said, in a disbelieving tone that matched her face. "You're drunk!"
