195.44.142.180 writes:

The scene: Dancer, in her everyday identity of waitress Sarah Shepherson, has just got an evening job at a seedy Paradiopolis cellar bar to help pay her brother through college.

Mr Scarface: Dis place is a good place to get tips, see? You be nice to the customers, and every time dey have a windfall they treat you nice too, see?

Sarah: It sounds just like Mr Papadopoplous’ café where I work during the daytime – except that the people here tend to be a bit smellier and have prosthetic arms and major facial scarring.

Stubbly man in shredded yellow spandex and a body cast: Hey, you got something against facial scarring?

Sarah, politely: No, of course not. I just can’t help but notice that many of the patrons appear to be rather… damaged.

Man repairing his badly scorched body armour: Sure. There was a sweet shipment of, er, merchandise coming in tonight but the whole thing was busted up by the Lair Legion.

Man trying to get the dent our of his atomic chestplate: Yeah. They used unfair tactics, like winning!

Man deliberately standing at the bar: And spank rays.

Man seeping gently onto the upholstery: And Amazon war spears.

Man smoking a cigarette contentedly in the corner: And whips.

Sarah: Are you saying that you were involved in some criminal act this evening and ran foul of superhero law-enforcers?

Mr Scarface: Sure dey were. Didn’t I tell you what kind of bar dis was?

Sarah: You said that it was a village pub.

Mr Scarface: Villains pub. Not village. Villains, see?

Sarah: Ah.

Mr Scarface: And now dat you’re in the know, you gotta swear not to tell anybody or we’ll have to do with you what we did with Molly.

Sarah (worriedly): What did you do with Molly?

Man trying to staple his hair back on: We paid her a lot of money to move to Hawaii didn’t we?

Mr Scarface: Mebbe that’s a bad example. But you gotta swear, or we’ll turn you over to Appendage Man.

Appendage Man, flexing several organs in greeting: Yum.

Sarah: I see. Well, all this excitement is making me need the bathroom. Excuse me.

Mr Scarface: I t’ink she’s going to work out fine.

[Bathroom door is kicked open as Dancer vaults into the room]

Dancer: Alright felons, you are all under citizens arrest.

Man who has almost got the dent out of his atomic chestplate now, and only has to glue his teeth back in: A super-chick! Here, in our bar!

Man standing by the bar and approaching with a strange mincing walk: You bitch! What have you done to Sarah, our designated waitress for the evening?

Man trying to remove silly string from eyebrows: She’s got Sarah! Get her, guys.

All supervillains in bar: For Sarah! Teach her she can’t mess with our coffee server!

Dancer, thinking quickly: You’re right. I have your waitress, and if you ever want to see her again, you’ll all come quietly.

Appendage Man: You got Sarah? Damn, she’s got us over a barrel. All right, we’ll come quietly.

Dancer: Mr Scarface, phone the police and turn yourselves in. Do it or the waitress gets it! (thinks: Damn, another night job blown).


Dancer