Dimentio held up the heavy wrench. It was Mr. L's favourite shade of jet-black, and its outline was tinged with purple magic.
"Are you sure this is gonna work?" asked Mimi, who was staying well back.
"As sure as Koopas have shells, my dear Mimi," cooed Dimentio. He raised the wrench higher, so it loomed over his head.
O'Chunks and Count Blumiere stepped backwards slightly. They were each holding the strangely silent Rightway by the wings. Lady Timpani's hands were surrounded in a shimmering rainbow aura. Nastasia had her glasses at the ready. Raven was flapping overhead as a crow.
"Kay, Dim, better do it now," said O'Chunks, nodding at Rightway.
"As hard as you can, added Count Blumiere."
Dimentio nodded curtly and hovered cautiously over to Rightway. Wide innocent eyes turned on him, and he almost felt sorry for the alter-ego. But then the feeling was gone, and the jester was bringing the bulky wrench down on Rightway's skull.
THUD.
Rightway slumped to the floor, unconscious. O'Chunks and Count Blumiere released their grip immediately, and Timpani began checking for injuries.
"Anything?" cawed Raven from above.
"No blood," said Timpani, "but he took quite a hit. He'll be unconscious for a few hours."
"In the meantime," grimaced Blumiere, turning to Dimentio, "we can deal with you."
Mr. L flapped unsteadily through the halls of Castle Bleck. He kept feeling the large bandaged bruise on his forehead, and wondering at it. What had he been doing, again?
He entered the living room, where the other minions were watching a rerun of The Bing Bang Theory. L lingered at the doorway, watching the others for signs of recognition.
"Why would he waste his money on a book no-one's gonna read?" demanded Raven, as Leonard tossed away a book while Penny watched on.
"Maybe it went to charity," mused Mimi.
Mr. L melted away into the shadows. If they were busy, he wasn't going to disturb them.
As he strode off, L considered a quick fly to clear his mind. He set course for the roof, and in a matter of minutes had reached his destination. The wind whipped his hair as Mr. L spread his wings, and leaped off the Castle roof.
The wind blossomed out from underneath his wings, and L rose like a bullet. He folded his wings and dove, streaking towards the ground before whipping his wings open and sweeping back up into the now clear blue.
Once he was at cloud level, Mr. L slowed and settled for casual flapping. But maybe, just maybe, if he had listened a bit harder, flown just a bit slower, he would have heard a childish voice chirp out a strange assortment of words.
"Tuba wombat alphebatise tap-dance!"