By the time Larry went back down the basement steps, funky disco music reverberated down the hall, which he grooved to as he walked, feeling more elated the longer he was in his superhero costume. It was even better than he had envisioned it, thanks to Alfred's clever hand. The suit itself was spandex, with a white-collared, yellow tunic and dark-purple pants, and Alfred had accessorized it with a cool belt. Larry's favorite part, however, was the helmet: it was like something from an old sci-fi TV show: purple, bullet shaped with a fin on top and a plunger on either side, and it concealed the top face of his face. When Larry jerked his head a certain way, it could shoot one of the plungers, which was connected to a long rope, which Larry could retract by moving his head a different way.
When he re-entered the party room, he passed a tall, bulky figure just inside, and Larry stopped to whistle in amazement.
"Wow!" he shouted over the music. "Great costume! You look just like a real robot!"
The robot said nothing but continued to stare straight ahead. He was box shaped, and he had thin rods for arms which terminated in bulky gauntlets and thick hands. Knobs and light bulbs covered his torso, and an antenna on his head blinked red. Larry repeated his compliment, but again the robot did not respond. Larry figured he probably had not heard him, since the funky disco music blasting from the speakers smothered almost every other noise.
"Well, enjoy the party!" he yelled, continuing on his way.
The dance floor was bouncing, despite only one vegetable dancing. It took Larry several moments to realize the dancer was the onion whom he had run into earlier. Now that Larry could get a good look at the stranger, he realized just how odd his appearance was (assuming that was not actually a costume). His head was an enormous white bulb, and what looked like long, green stalks or roots formed his arms and legs — having never seen a vegetable with limbs before, Larry wondered if these were real or just mechanical pieces. The stranger's eyes were yellow, and a monocle made his right one appear much larger, giving an asymmetrical quality to his pale features. He wore a dark-purple tunic accessorized with a black belt and a short dark-purple cape with a mauve lining. What really drew attention was that he carried a tall floor lamp with him, and a smiley face had been scrawled on its white shade.
The reason for his complete monopoly of the dance floor was that his wild thrashing and kicking had caused the others to retreat a safe distance, forming a wary ring around him. Sometimes, the onion grabbed his floor lamp and swung it around like a dance partner.
Adjusting the collar of his shirt, Larry took a deep breath and slipped into the crowd of spectators. He reminded himself to move slowly and watch his steps, like he had done on the obstacle courses with the mannequins, but he had nearly forgotten that stationary objects did not hop and move around to music. He had barely taken five steps when someone, turning to get more punch, nearly ran into him, and he had to draw back to allow the veggie room, which almost caused him to step on Esther's toes.
"Oh, excuse me!" he shouted in a rush. "Didn't see you there!"
"It's okay!" she called back good-naturedly before she gave him a curious look. "I don't think I've seen you around before. Are you new to the church?"
Larry smiled, inwardly cheering. "Uh, no, I've been here a while."
"Well, I'm Esther," she answered with a welcoming smile.
"I'm Lar—" he caught himself in time. "I mean, I'm, uh… LarryBoy?"
"LarryBoy?" she repeated, arching an eyebrow. "Is that a family name?"
"I mean, my character is LarryBoy," he explained. "Superheroes have cool names, you know."
"Oh, yeah." She nodded, apologetic. "Sorry, I don't read a lot of comic books. Your costume looks awfully good though!"
"Thanks!" he grinned. He twisted himself around, modeling his suit. "I designed it myself — well, with some help from my friend. You really like it?"
"Sure!" she grinned. "Hey, do you know my cousin, 'Ma Grape'?"
"Sure do!"
"She has been taking photos of the guests for the next church bulletin," Esther told him, taking advantage of a softer part of the disco song to speak clearly. "Why don't we get her to take one of you?"
He readily agreed, and they threaded their way over to Ma, who was watching the dancing onion. Esther got her attention, and she brightened when she saw Larry's costume.
"A superhero, huh? Aren't you cute!"
"I think you mean 'dashing' and 'heroic,'" Larry corrected her, but Ma did not seem to hear.
Ma started to raise the camera, but she suddenly straightened. "Oh, that's it!"
"What?"
She laughed, catching herself.
"Oh, sorry! I've been racking my brain trying to figure out who that young man over there reminds me of!" she shouted back, nudging her head toward the dancer. "He looks almost like a younger version of Selfless Simon!"
"Who?" asked Esther.
"He was one of Lollyhaven's big-time superheroes, years and years ago!"
"Never heard of him!" Esther hollered.
Fortunately, one of the deacons managed to get over to the stereo and adjust the volume, making the music a little more endurable. The onion did not even give an apologetic look but kept grooving and swinging the floor lamp around.
"Selfless Simon sometimes helped Pruneman protect Bumblyburg," Ma explained, shaking off the effects of the loud music, "so we all got to see him a lot. Real great hero. Everybody loved him. He saved my kindergarten teacher once from a burning building."
"That's super!" smiled Larry.
Ma chuckled, turning back to the stranger with a motherly smile, as though he were only a little kid.
"Later, Selfless Simon started taking a funny little sidekick with him everywhere," she continued. "His grandson, I think. He'd be about our disco dancer's age now."
The funky song faded into its ending, and in the pause, Ma screwed up her face in thought.
"Now, let me see. What was that little boy's name again? Compassionate Calvin? Munificent Melvin? No, no, no…"
The next song started up, and the stranger reached over to twist the stereo dial back up to full volume before he started a fresh dance. Meanwhile, Ma Grape turned and stopped her husband, who was passing by.
"Pa! Do you remember the name of Selfless Simon's grandson?" she called.
"Eh?" Pa Grape paused, knitting his bushy brow. "Wasn't it Altruistic Albert?"
"Close… Oh. I remember now!" she laughed. "Alvin! I knew it was a 'vin' name!"
"Yeah, that's right!" Pa Grape grinned. "He was a funny little boy, always dancing. Everyone called him the Twinkle-Toed Crusader!"
"He was a dear!" Ma nodded, smiling fondly as she turned back toward the dancer. "That young man is the exact image of Altruistic Alvin, all grown up!"
The disco dancer suddenly released the lamp and stormed back over to the stereo player. He swung his green hand up and slammed it against the large stop button, cutting the music off with a nasty crack, and the whole room went still.
"Who said that?!" he snarled, whirling around.
The other guests stared at him; some murmured behind their cups of punch. The stranger was not satisfied with their uncomfortable silence, and he stalked forward, sweeping his monocled eye over the blank faces.
"Come, come! I demand to know right now!" he shouted. "Who said that name?!"
Awkwardly, Ma Grape raised her camera in response. The stranger snapped around and charged straight for her. Pa Grape took a protective step in front of his wife, but the onion was taller than most of the other guests, and he easily bent over them both, yellow eyes blazing.
"I'm not him — do you understand me?!" he raged, glaring right into Ma's eyes. "Do not ever confuse me with some goody two-shoes dweeb who dances around for your amusement! I'm bad! I'm rotten! I'm awful, inside and out! Got it?!"
"Wow, you're really committed to your character, buddy," said a nearby carrot dressed like a fireman.
"I can respect that," nodded his girlfriend, who was dressed like Little Bo Peep.
The onion rounded on her. "Respect this!"
From the folds of his cape, he pulled out what looked like a toy space gun — but when he pulled the trigger, a white burst shot out at the girl who had spoken. The fireman managed to knock his girlfriend out of the way, and he absorbed the full blast.
Screams erupted from the onlookers, but the whole room grew perplexed when the fireman began to laugh — and laugh — and laugh and laugh and laugh. He chuckled. He snorted. He giggled and tittered and snickered and chortled, and the gales of laughter kept coming. He guffawed so hard that he collapsed on the floor, rocking like he had heard the funniest joke in the whole world.
"M-Make it stop!" he cackled, tears streaming down his orange face. "Please!"
The onion adjusted a knob on the space gun, and a green burst shot out this time. Once it struck the man, he collapsed on the floor, gasping now. His girlfriend dropped to his side with a cry of alarm.
The onion smirked, admiring his handiwork.
"This is my tickle blaster," he addressed the onlookers, and then added, "Patent pending. And if any of you lower lifeforms think you can laugh at me, then go right ahead! But you won't be able to stop until I let you!"
A shocked gasp swept through the veggies, and as one, many turned for the door. Parents scooped up children — props and costume accessories clattered to the ground — veggies screamed — Larry ran over to help Alfred who was nearly trampled — but Alvin gleefully pulled out a remote and pressed a button.
Before anyone could break through the exit, something moved into the doorway — a big metallic something, with electronic eyes glowing red and mechanical arms and legs. It planted itself firmly in front of the door and blinked his red eyes, full of an unspoken threat which made the fleeing veggies draw back in horror.
"I took the liberty of bringing a few toys along, in case any of you veggies decided to leave our play date early," the onion taunted above the din of dismayed cries. "Now, everyone, line up! By the wall! Now!"
He directed them with the tickle blaster, and everyone shuffled into place. There were too many to form a single line, so they had to stand in rows. Parents hid their children behind themselves while husbands and wives clutched each other.
Larry managed to stay beside Alfred as they scooted into the front row, and he whispered, "What do we do?"
Without looking at him, Alfred replied, "Pray. What else?"
"Now then," the onion boomed out before all his hostages were even in place, "where is Mayor Blueberry? Would she be so kind as to step forward?"
A pink cowgirl hat and blonde hair shifted through the crowd, and the stern blue face of the mayor appeared. The French peas tried to step in front of her, their cowbells clanking with their quick hops, but Mayor Blueberry only jumped over them. Without a blink, she strode up to the onion and the tickle blaster pointed right at her.
The onion dipped into a mocking bow.
"Allow me to introduce myself, Your Honor," he leered. "I am Awful Alvin — not to be confused with Altruistic Alvin, the simpering simpleton who used to protect Lollyhaven," he added darkly. "We are nothing alike!"
"Duly noted," Mayor Blueberry replied coolly, holding Alvin's malicious gaze.
Regaining his smirk, Awful Alvin straightened, laying a hand on his chest.
"I am the smartest and most wicked-est villain in the whole country, if not the world! And here is my sidekick, Lampy" — motioning toward the lamp. "Say hello to our illustrious hostage, Lampy."
The lamp only smiled, staring blankly ahead. At the word "hostage," a ripple of terror passed through the crowd — somehow Alvin's casual delivery made the situation all the more real, their danger all the more poignant — but Mayor Blueberry remained cool.
"And what, may I ask, are your demands, sir?" she returned. "How long do you intend to keep us here?"
"One thing at a time, Madame Mayor, but as for how long you'll all be here — as long as it takes!" He let out another cackle and began to boogie again. "And this calls for a villainous dance of villainy! Ha, ha! Oh, yeah!"
He grabbed the lamp and began to groove — it would have been a comical sight, if it had not been for that tickle blaster in his other hand. Mayor Blueberry had to clear her throat a few times before she managed to regain Alvin's attention.
"And what exactly do you want, sir?" she questioned. "If you want money, our town's treasury has been robbed twice in three months, and our reserve of snacks is middling—"
"Oh, there's more to be gained than just money, Your Honor," Alvin tittered, adjusting his monocle.
He took five steps toward Mayor Blueberry, who stood her ground without a blink, and he leaned over her.
"The Who's Who of Bumblyburg are right in this very room, starting with the newly elected mayor who doesn't believe in taking security with her everywhere." His yellow eyes gleamed. "It's like you were begging to be kidnapped, and so here I am, ready to grant your request."
Mayor Blueberry looked away, pursing her red lips.
"Well then, you have what you want," she said, bravely. "We don't need to hang around here any longer. I will go with you quietly, Awful Alvin — if you will let all these good people go."
"Mayor, no!" cried the French peas, but Mayor Blueberry ignored them.
Alvin barked a laugh. "You're in no position to make demands, Mayor."
"Even so," she replied, "you are a supervillain with a busy schedule, no? One hostage is easier to manage than a room full of people. I will leave with you right now. No one will follow us, and they can all go home in peace. …Please."
Alvin snickered, leaning back. "What do you think of this proposition, Lampy?"
The lamp remained still and silent.
"Yes, we have to think it over, don't we?" Alvin hummed, touching his chin. "It's certainly an interesting dilemma! More hostages mean more people to torment, but there's something to be said about an easy getaway. Choices, choices, choices…"
Larry's attention had been rooted to the conversation, and so he jolted when Alfred suddenly nudged his side.
"Master Larry," the asparagus whispered, nudging his head toward the other side of the room, "look! Over in the corner by the door!"
Larry followed his gaze, and his heart lifted. Visible around the robot's arm was the rectangular shape of the wall phone: last year, the church had installed phones in all the classrooms to allow for communication with the church office, and—
"Each phone has a button for emergency calls!" Larry remembered, hope surging through him.
"Exactly!" Alfred glanced furtively at Awful Alvin, who was too busy gloating to pay much attention to his other prisoners. "Hopefully, he didn't think to cut the church's phone lines. Oh, if we could only stage a distraction, then someone could get to the phone and dial the police!"
Larry casted his gaze over the crowd of terrified veggies, wishing that he could find someone who they could convince to be brave and stand up to Alvin, but no one made a move. He tried to catch someone's eye, but as his gaze flitted from frightened face to frightened face, a new thought occurred to him.
He was someone.
Perhaps it was the adrenaline pulsing through him, or perhaps it was his natural protective instincts toward the small and weak, but that revelation did not scare him.
Someone had to act, even if it meant being tickled, or everyone could get hurt.
Something inside him steeled itself, and he squared his shoulders.
Every churchgoer here was someone Larry knew, even on a casual level, and he cared about all of them. Alfred, Tom, Rosie, Esther, Pa Grape, Ma Grape, Mayor Blueberry, the French peas, and on and on it went. There were the veggies who stopped to greet him every Sunday and sat with him at the church picnics, the children who clambered around him when he helped out during children's church or Vacation Bible School, the old ladies who reminded him of Aunt Ruth and who gave him little strawberry candies from their purse, the old men who offered advice when he had a problem.
Larry could not stand by and let Alvin hurt any of them.
Leaning back toward Alfred, he whispered, "I'll do it."
Alfred immediately grabbed hold of his collar, shaking his head.
"But what if you get shot?" he cautioned. "You hate being tickled, Master Larry!"
"Better me than one of those little kids," Larry muttered back. "Be ready to move. Okay?"
With a silent prayer, Larry stepped forward, intending to say something brave and daring that would draw all of Alvin's attention onto himself, but his eyes fell once more on the tickle blaster, and he halted, considering his next move.
If Larry did not first get that thing away from Alvin, then Alvin might turn it on the others without a second thought. If only Larry could knock the tickle blaster out of his hand or yank it away…
All at once, Larry remembered something, and a grim smile appeared on his face before he twisted himself around, turning his body perpendicular to Alvin. He closed one eye, aiming, and jerked his head just so — and out popped one of his plunger ears. It shot through the air and smacked right into the tickle blaster.
Alvin stopped his gloating, his face growing blank. "What in the—?"
Larry jerked his head back, almost like he was reeling in a fish, and the cord connected to the plunger retracted with a snap. The tickle blaster went flying out of Alvin's hand before the onion could respond, and it dropped into Larry's waiting grasp. Without a pause, Larry hurled it onto the basement floor, breaking the weapon into several pieces.
"Ha!" he cried in triumph. "You can't hurt anybody with your cheaply made weapons now, Awful Alvin!"
Alvin whirled around, baring his jagged teeth. "How dare you?!"
"Very easily, actually."
Alvin stalked toward Larry, but Mayor Blueberry, seeming to grow pale, grabbed hold of his green leg.
"He's just a civilian," she pleaded with Alvin. "I'll get him to behave! Just wait!"
Alvin's scowl deepened, and Mayor Blueberry hurriedly addressed Larry, "Please, Monsieur, you're only going to make things worse! Just get back in line with the others."
"The smartest thing you've said in your entire term, Mayor," Alvin sneered, but his monocled glare remained fixed on Larry. "Maybe Her Honor should remind her constituents that now isn't the time to be a hero."
Out of the corner of his eye, Larry saw a pith helmet weaving through the rows of veggies toward the robot, but Larry rapidly averted his gaze and took a diagonal step forward, trying to keep Awful Alvin's attention as far away from Alfred's movements as possible. He needed to stall.
"Wherever there is trouble, I'll be there!" Larry declared, trying to sound unafraid. "Whenever a helpless vegetable calls out, I will answer! When Bumblyburg needs a hero, I — am — that — hero!"
He stuck out his chest, just like Captain Berry would have done after a heroic speech.
Alvin promptly snorted. "Somebody reads too many comic books."
"Be that as it may," Larry retorted, "you won't hurt anybody else, Awful Alvin! I, Super Lar— uh, I mean" — he paused, trying to recollect the name that he had told Esther — "I, LarryBoy, am here to stop you!"
Alvin made a slow clap.
"Bravo," he said dryly. "An excellent example of what too much LARPing can do to an undeveloped mind, but you forgot one important thing, LarryBoy."
LarryBoy narrowed his eyes, raising his head in defiance. "Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah." Alvin reached into the folds of his cape. "I still got a robot!"
"Well, actually, I didn't exactly forget that—" LarryBoy started to say, but Alvin whipped out a remote the size of a garage opener and punched a bunch with his thumb.
The robot beeped, and a hatch on its head opened, and out shot an object which landed neatly in Alvin's waiting palm. It was a boxing glove mounted on one end of a pantograph, sort of like something in those old slapstick cartoons. Before LarryBoy could react, Alvin slammed the folding supports in his hands together, and the boxing glove cannoned forward — and connected right with LarryBoy's masked face.
Stars exploded before his eyes, and he staggered, too dizzy to cry out in pain. The pantograph whizzed back, and again the boxing glove struck him, this time in his chin, knocking right off his feet. LarryBoy had only time to grunt before he crashed into the concrete basement floor, which added another cluster of stars to the first. LarryBoy tried to raise his head but collapsed with a groan.
Alvin burst into wicked guffaws, slapping his knee.
"HA HA HA HA! Just because you're dressed like a superhero, doesn't mean you are a superhero," the onion crowed. "I'd stay right there if I were you — wallowing in abject failure!"
He let out another cackle, but it suddenly switched a shout. "Not so fast!"
Alvin's remote beeped again, and an alarmed yelp cut through the air. The robot had snatched up Alfred as he tried to slip past, and the poor asparagus now thrashed in its metallic grip. LarryBoy tried to call out to his friend, but with three Alfreds swirling before his eyes, he was not sure which one to address.
"I do hope nobody else gets any bright ideas," growled Alvin. "You're only getting out of here when I say, capisce?"
Mayor Blueberry glared at him. "So, why not start letting a few of the children and mothers leave? You already got what you wanted."
"Not entirely," Alvin returned, and he spun to scan the crowd. "I came here to pick up two of Bumblyburg's illustrious citizens."
Mayor Blueberry leaned back. "Two?"
"Oh, yes!" Alvin began to hum again, still searching the frightened faces. "Now then, where is Larry the Cucumber?"
A/N: Selfless Simon — In the book, LarryBoy in the Attack of Outback Jack, the superhero class go on a field trip to a retirement home to meet the former heroes of their respective cities. Dark Crow is paired with an onion who looks like an older version of Awful Alvin. That gave me the idea that maybe Alvin would have been revealed later on to have come from a superhero family if the 2D series hadn't been canceled. Regardless of whether that's true, I like the idea.
Anyway, since this is "early Awful Alvin," he hasn't gotten to the Angry Eyebrows and Ear Wacks level of his inventing abilities, but he can build a robot and a few (cartoony) weapons.