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Dancer wishes all the best to those two crazy kids!
Thu Dec 14, 2006 at 12:56:36 pm EST
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Dancer’s CSFBWedding! Tie-In: “Aaagh! Exploding cheerleader alert! She’s going up!”
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Dancer’s CSFBWedding! Tie-In: “Aaagh! Exploding cheerleader alert! She’s going up!”

[The Scene: Dancer is in her flat over the Bean and Donut Coffee Bar, getting ready to go to the wedding/engagement party/stag night/hen night/Bar Mitzvah of CrazySugarFreakBoy! and Alice April Apple. She is getting out of the shower, wrapped in thought and a small towel.]

Dancer: Hmm. Always the bridesmaid never the bride. Except for those times when I was the bride, but you can’t really count those because they were all annulled. And Dmitri got his citizenship anyhow by selling recycled Soviet plutonium to the CIA. Still, with any luck my mother won’t hear about the wedding until after its over so I won’t get the usual “When am I going to get grandchildren” speech, as modified by the “Visionary got on with it why can’t you,” codicil. And what shoes shall I wear?

Magenta St Evil, Dancer’s self-proclaimed arch-enemy: Shoes will be the least of your problems, Probability Dancer.

Dancer: Magenta? You know, I’d completely forgotten you knew my secret identity. It’s been absolutely ages since there was a good way to work you into a Dancer story.

Magenta St Evil: Well here I am. And I do.

Dancer: You’re getting confused. It’s April that says I do. Well, it’s pretty conclusive that she already has – done I mean - but she has to officially say she’ll do, for the public record.

Magenta: Shut up, will you? I’m here to deliver a gloating monologue of evil, not to indulge in pathetic verbal misunderstandings.

Dancer: Boy, did you pick the wrong person to archvillain.

Magenta: Also, those shoes do not match those ear-rings.

Dancer: Well now you’re getting personal. These ear-rings cost me almost five dollars.

Magenta: You were overcharged. Anyhow I came to warn you that your friends’ wedding is doomed. Doomed. And insert an evil laugh here, please.

Dancer: Doomed? How? What have you done this time, you evil cheap jewellery critic? *thinks more* And why do I have to insert an evil laugh? It’s not like you to hold back on the insane cackling, Magenta.

Magenta: I happen to be saving myself up for a really really insane cackle after the wedding, if you must know. It’s been brewing for days. I’m not going to waste it now.

Dancer: What are you planning? Because we already have about eight disrupt-the-wedding plots already going, not counting all the ones we have yet to hear about. And the Hooded Hood has let it be known that he will frown severely on supervillain attacks on the big day, as his wedding present to Dream.

Magenta: The Hood has gone soft. I remain true to my cause, the restoration of all superhero activity to its glorious heights in the 1990s.

Dancer: You mean incoherent plots, bad reboots, incessant crossovers, needless marketing ploys, never resolved subplots, alternate covers, blatant guest appearances by Wolverine and the Punisher, and everybody having a permanent constipated scowl?

Magenta: Yes. And the first rule of proper superheroing is that married characters are boring. I’m doing CSFB! a favour really. Instead of letting him enter into a turgid creativity-sapping life of domestic bliss I can offer an exciting tragic death at the altar, complete with iconic picture of him cradling the blood-stained bride and shaking one fist to the heavens. And then he can become the angry angst-ridden psychopath vigilante killer we all know would be far more interesting.

Dancer: Very 90s. But I suppose that explains why you have such impossibly small feet and narrow ankles.

Magenta: That plastic surgery really hurt.

Dancer: Okay, well thanks for dropping by the gloat, magenta, but now I’m going to have to alert the Lair Legion to put a stop to your evil and incredibly hackneyed plan.

Magenta: I think not, Dancer. You see, you won’t be there. This evil clone of Dancer will take your place at the ceremony, with her chest cavity packed with high explosives. As she hugs the bride – boom! Instant sell out issue!

Dancer, examining the Dancer clone: No way do I have thighs that fat, Magenta. And there is absolutely no way I would go to the wedding dressed as an underaged teen-slut bimbo sex toy.

Clone Dancer: Hey! I am dressed as a football cheerleader.

Dancer: Like I said. The Lair Legion will spot you as a phoney in an instant.

Clone Dancer, breathing deeply: Really? You think that’s what will be going through their minds?

Dancer: Their minds won’t be involved much, I admit. I guess I’ll just have to stop you and your pre-cackling mistress right here and now. When we fight try not to damage the good furniture.

Magenta, looking around: There’s good furniture?

Clone-Dancer: When you have been eliminated I intend to completely redecorate this place anyway, in black velvet and chains.

Magenta: You still haven’t realised the genius of my plan, Dancer. You see I also brought along this portable probability stabiliser, as created by those people behind that whole SR 1066 plot in case they needed to, um, stabilise you.

Dancer: If anybody needs stabilising it’s clone-Dancer in that costume.

Magenta: And with your powers neutralised you will be easily captured by my two hulking henchmen, Butch and Rod.

Dancer: Henchmen? Clone Dancer? Where the heck were you hiding these people when this conversation began? Do I really want to know where you pulled them from?

Magenta: Get her, Butch and Rod! She is helpless now!

Dancer: Butch and Rod? Really? Are you guys compensating for something?

Clone-Dancer: I think they’re cute.

Dancer: You shouldn’t be called Clone-Dancer. You should be Bizarro-Dancer. Although Butch could pass as semi-cute in a dim light if he shaved that moustache, I suppose. Anyway, what makes you think I’m helpless now?

Magenta: Because you are cornered in nothing but a small towel, surrounded by my henchmen.

Dancer: And you think that’s a disadvantage?

[Dancer drops the small towel, then sprays depilating cream over Butch and Rod as they are distracted. She whips the towel at Magenta, causing the villainess to drop the probability inhibitor on her tiny foot. When that smashes Dancer has her powers back, which is when improbable things happen to clone-Dancer’s cheerleading outfit that leaves the fake screaming and writhing on the floor as shrink-wrapped plastic shrinks further in a freak shrink-wrap malfuction.]

Dancer: You were saying, Magenta?

[Clone-Dancer’s stress levels reach popping point, and so does the C4 in her chest cavity.]

Magenta: Aaagh! Exploding cheerleader alert! She’s going up!

Dancer: Well, that makes a nice change from her going down, I suppose. Time for the old probability jiggle. It’s a good thing this isn’t an illustrated story.

[C4 explodes in an amazingly shaped way to knock out Magenta, Butch, and Rod while doing no other damage except to a hula-girl lamp Dancer’s brother Karl sent to her last Christmas, which is sadly irreparably shattered after being splattered with bits of clone-gore.]

[Okay, Dancer also hits Magenta over the head with it as well, I admit. But it was a horrible lamp.]

Dancer: Whew! I’d better hurry up. I still have to decide about shoes before I’m late for the wedding. * Reaches for Wonder Woman outfit and goes with the traditional Amazon greaves in the end *

Magenta St Evil: Ouch. Curses, failed again. And… oh no… nooo…. Can’t hold it back any more… Bwahahahahahahahahahahahahahhh!!!

Dancer: Ooh, premature cackling. Bad form, Magenta.

Magenta: I’m so ashamed. This has never happened to me before.

Dancer: Ask Rod and Butch to tidy up when they wake up, will you? And if you could leave the key under the mat when you go? I’ve got to rush. I’ve a wedding to go to!




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