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Post By The Hooded Hood's one and a half-sized pre-haitus extravaganza on what it takes to lead the LL Sat Jun 05, 2004 at 01:36:41 pm EDT |
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#154: Untold Tales of the Lair Legion: Chats With Mumphrey, or Leadership Issues | |
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| #154: Untold Tales of the Lair Legion: Chats With Mumphrey, or Leadership Issues Previously: Eccentric Englishman Sir Mumphrey Wilton is substituting for Fin Fang Foom as leader of the Lair Legion while the dragon and the Dark Knight finish business offworld. Mumphrey has inducted a number of new members and brought back some old ones. The newest probationer is Mr Epitome, a controversial hard-line government operative who is little trusted or liked by some of the other Legionnaires. Meanwhile, Nats has awoken after a night of drowning his sorrows to find himself wed to Uhunalura, Princess of the Abhumans. The Hooded Hood's Homepage of Doom Who's Who in the Parodyverse Where's Where in the Parodyverse  Sir Mumphrey Wilton knocked on the door of Mr Epitome’s makeshift office in the Lair Mansion. “May I come in.” “Of course,” agreed the Lair Legion’s newest probationary member, closing the lid of his laptop and looking up. “Please take a seat.” The team’s acting leader looked around the sparse little room with its Office of Paranormal Security furnishings. “I brought you something,” he said wryly, placing a Lair Legion coffee mug on the table beside the OPS one. Dominic Clancy took the point. “I’m not the most popular candidate for membership of your little club,” he noted. “I imagine you’ve probably already heard the warnings from CrazySugarFreakBoy!, Lisa, Trickshot, and Falcon?” Mumph surmised. “And Yo,” Mr Epitome added, with raised eyebrows. “I think that one might have been the scariest.” “They just care about the team,” Sir Mumphrey answered. “You’ll win their trust, I’m sure.” “I don’t know,” Clancy replied. “This may have been a huge mistake.” “No, I’m sure you’ll win their trust,” the eccentric Englishman explained, “because you’re too smart a political operator and too good a manipulator not to. Why else would you agree to join if not to try and bend the team more to your way of thinking, what?” Mr Epitome’s head jerked up. “I joined because you somehow got a Presidential Order…” “Pfah! Your contact, the mysterious Grey Eminence, could have had that overturned in ten minutes if you‘d really wanted to. Yes, I know about the Eminence, or at least a little about him. Been around a long time, both of us. Chap picks things up.” “Any Grey Eminence, and I cannot confirm of deny whether there is such a person, codename, department, or project of that name, is a matter of national security that…” “Yes, yes,” agreed Mumph. “Keep your secrets, lad. None of my business unless it starts affectin’ the Legion.” Mr Epitome started to wonder whether he was being played. “Why did you manoeuvre me onto the team, Sir Mumphrey?” he demanded. “Seemed the easiest way to defuse the rivalry between OPS and the LL,” the old man shrugged. “This way your people don’t need to take more drastic measures that I don’t think you’d be comfortable with, and you bring along a new perspective that the team here could use a little of.” “They don’t like me. They don’t want me here.” Mumphrey moved his head noncommittally. “Nobody said serving your country and the world was easy, Mr Epitome. Sometimes we’re called on to make sacrifices. Every time you suppress an urge to strangle CrazySugarFreakBoy! you’re doing it for the public good.” “You think the Lair Legion will change me, don’t you? Erode my principles and determination?” “I think that a score of talented, passionate, carin’ people locked together in one mansion will squabble till the cows come home,” Sir Mumphrey admitted. “And I think they’ll come together at dire need, to accomplish something extraordinary.” He rose and shook Epitome’s hand. “I look forward to the day when you’ll want to drink your coffee from that new mug of yours.” “Married,” Nats said to Uhunalura, Princess of the Abhumans. “We’re married?” All the evidence was there: the wedding bands, the honeymoon suite of the Paradopolis Hilton, the rumpled golden sheets, the naked woman with the radiant expression. “I know!” Uhuna marvelled. “I can’t believe it!” “Neither can I,” admitted Bill Reed. He tried to remember the night before, when he had flown the Abhuman girl across the city in a farewell tour before she had to return to her own people and to…” “Maximess!” Nats recalled. “Your… your fiancée?” Uhuna’s face clouded. “Oh…” she gasped. “Maxi. I’d… forgotten about him! How could I forget about him?” Another nasty thought assailed Bill. “How do your people usually react to members of the Abhuman royal family marrying… spontaneously.” “I don’t know,” the young redhead admitted. “I don’t think it’s ever happened before. They… might take it badly. And Maxi’s going to be very cross.” “Why did we do it?” Nats wondered. Uhuna looked puzzled. “Because you said I had the cutest pair of…” “I mean why did we… get married? We got married, right?” “Well, because I… because you…” Her pretty face clouded. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “We drank a lot of that fermented grape drink, and then that liquid with the dead worm in it, and then more fermented grain products…” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “You seduced me!” “No,” Nats told her, backing off from a touch that could transfer any one of a number of crippling injuries she had lifted from those who were suffering. “No. Nonononononononono.” “You swine! You… tricked me into breaking my oaths to Maxi, into betraying my heritage and position! You ruined me and made me into… into a slut!” “No, honestly,” Nats assured her. “I… I don’t think this is really happening. I think maybe it’s the Hooded Hood, his little joke for me being rude to him. It’s got to be that! I never meant to marry you!” A look of pain marred Uhuna’s lovely face. “You… you didn’t? You didn’t want me? You don’t love me?” “It’s not like that, Uhuna. It’s not that I… We weren’t ready. We weren’t supposed to be together. You know that. I never…” “Oh, but you did, Bill Reed,” Uhunalura snarled at him. “You took what you wanted and now you want to just throw me aside to Maximess’ vengeance!” “I… no,” Nats assured her. “Look, I don’t know how this happened, but I never meant to hurt you or do you wrong. Really. I don’t…” But it was too late. The Abhuman’s hands caught Nats by the head and her face twisted into a mask of rage. “Die!” The Manga Shoggoth was in the Monitor Room, watching nine different Japanese cartoons at once on the multiple screens while absently rewriting the Daily Trombone crossword to operate on a five-dimensional letter grid. “Mornin’,” called Sir Mumphrey, carefully stepping round the piles of elder-goo that the Shoggoth tended to ooze if he wasn’t giving his bandage-swathed humanoid form his full attention. “Good morning, Sir Mumphrey,” the gelatinous horror gurgled. “I trust you are in adequate biological condition?” “Quite well, thanks,” the Keeper of the Chronometer of Infinity answered. “Just thought I’d pop in and see how you’re doing, don’t you know?” The Shoggoth flicked off the monitors and put down the crossword. “I have been expanding my experiences of your human world,” he explained. “I have taken up some new hobbies, such as baseball and taxidermy. But I know now not to try and pursue both of them at once.” He considered this. “Also, Dancer says I cannot deliver meals on wheels to shut-ins any more.” “Jolly good.” Sir Mumphrey stroked his whiskers pensively. “Been a long time since we first encountered one another, what?” “Only from your perspective and using a linear reference for causal events,” the elder beast considered. “Humans are very brief. But I still have the bullets you shot into me preserved somewhere in a main biomass as souvenirs.” “Touching,” Mumph noted. “Any progress on cleansing your current, er, form of the mundane matter contaminating it?” “Yes,” said the Manga Shoggoth optimistically. “Al B. Harper has stopped hiding under his workbench when I visit the laboratory. Mostly.” “That’s got to be a good sign then,” agreed the eccentric Englishman. “Not that the Lair Legion would want to lose you now. You’re provin’ a very handy addition.” “I prefer to work for my keep. It would not be right to enslave you as my servitors.” “Absolutely. Well, just so as you’re enjoyin’ your stay, hmm?” “I miss Sh’Ron, of course, and little Cthandra, and my larger protomatter, but people are being very kind,” the Shoggoth admitted. “Trickshot and dull thud have promised to introduce to the all-night bender soon, and it is some time since I participated in a major time/space folding event. And Flapjack has given me a number of instructive photographs to enable the easier identification of genders within your species.” “Oh, good,” Sir Mumphrey answered uncertainly. “I had previously understood that both aspects of your species had a series of blurred squares over parts of their anatomy,” the Shoggoth revealed, since many of his DVDs came from Japan which had a particular censorship system. “As long as you’re feeling welcome,” Mumph determined. He didn’t shake the Shoggoth’s hand; it tended to squelch. “Oh, by the way, I think eleven down, nine recursive is ABYSM,” he added, passing the crossword back to its owner. The Librarian was in the Lair Legion’s Records Room. With HALLIE’s help he had managed to clear nearly forty percent of the unfiled jumble of paperwork and video tapes that were piled randomly on shelves, chairs, and floors. “How’s it going?” Sir Mumphrey asked, pushing his way into the crowded space, trying not to step on anything too irreplaceable. “Slowly,” admitted Lee Bookman. “I filed the whole of the Hooded Hood’s transdimensional library quicker than this. But then, he didn’t seem to delight in using atypical methods of recording information.” “Atypical?” Lee Bookman held up a mouldy pizza inscribed with Trickshot’s account of his battle with Professor Manyarms. “Ah,” sympathised Mumphrey. “Half the early records have Kool-Whip on them,” Lee complained, “At least I hope it’s Kool-Whip. Or they have scorch marks.” “The records seem better of late,” Mumph observed, looking at the shelves of identical manila folders from Fin Fang Foom’s tenure as leader. “It’s a good job I can translate Makluan though,” the Librarian noted. “The dragon seems to obsessively write down every detail of his work with the Lair Legion.” “Dragons hoard their treasures,” suggested Mumphrey . “Young Foom just has a different idea of what constitutes treasure.” “He also files his mission accounts in eight hundred page long stories,” Lee scowled, rubbing his forehead. “With sub plots.” “Ah well,” sympathised the eccentric Englishman. “You are allowed to take a break from workin’ in the records room sometime, y’know.” “I know,” shuddered the Librarian. “But then Dancer grabs me and takes me out to socialise.” “Shocking!” gasped Mumph. “Nothin’ worse than being grabbed by a personable young lady and forced to socialise.” “Well, when you put it like that…” conceded the Librarian. “But I’ve been trained as an IOL guardian since I was in my teens. They didn’t encourage fraternisation.” “Then the Lair Legion’s going to be an interestin’ experience for you, I imagine,” snorted Sir Mumphrey. “He bugs me,” Falcon admitted. “Sure he bugs me. He’s so… casual about it all. As if it’s all one big joke. As if we’re not dealing with life and death here!” “Some people cope with danger that way,” Sir Mumphrey reasoned. “Some people have to laugh in the face of death.” “And some people are just plain ornery and irritating,” argued Sam Wilson. “Trickshot is one of them.” “The lad’s heart’s in the right place,” Mumph adjudged. “An’ he’s had his share of heartbreaks from what I can gather. Exiled out of a home reality he thought was destroyed, father gone, lover gone, woman he loves in this world the widow of his this-world evil self…” “We’ve all got problems,” Falcon frowned. “We don’t all have to go around making stupid unfunny jokes and grandstanding like we’re something special.” Sir Mumphrey handed a sports drink bottle over to Falcon across the vaulting horse in the Lair Gym. “I’m surprised you two don’t see how much you’ve got in common,” the acting leader suggested. “You’re the only two current members of the field team who get by without super-powers, just on training and guts.” “I get by on training. He gets by on showing-off.” “Showing off and six hours a day of archery practise,” Mumphrey pointed out. “Maybe,” conceded Falcon. “But he acts like he’s the greatest guy on Earth.” “Maybe he is,” suggested Mumph. “When I look at him I see a rather cocky, brash young man with his heart on his sleeve for all the world to see. And every day he picks up some weaponry that went out of fashion with the invention of gunpowder and he tries to make the world a better place, no matter what it costs him. I’m willing to put up with the occasional bit of showboating and insubordination for a chap like that, what?” “You’re altogether too much of a gentleman,” scowled Falcon. Sir Mumphrey changed the subject. “How’s your sister now, Sam? Settlin’ in to her new circumstances, what?” Falcon brightened. “She’s smart, kind, caring, and wonderful,” he admitted, “but don’t tell her I said so. I don’t know how I deserved a sister like that after all the bad stuff I did before I got… sorted out, or how she came through the nightmare like some kind of angel, but it’s great!” Mumph smiled. “Lindy seems like a fine young lady, and I’m sure that now she’s got the brother she deserves.” “We’re happy. I can’t ever remember being happy before, not truly. But we are. I keep waiting for the other shoe to fall.” “Perhaps you’ve got your happy ending now?” Sir Mumphrey suggested. “Perhaps there is no other shoe?” “There’s always another shoe,” worried Falcon. “I just haven’t seen it yet.” “Hey Lindy, how’ve you been doing?” “Zack? Zack Zelnitz is that you?” “Yeah,” grinned Hacker Nine. “You busy tonight?” “Falcon? The guy who gets his powers by sticking a bird up his butt?” Trickshot asked, continuing to send arrows down the target range. “No, I got no problem with the mouthy, stuck-up, pro-from-Dover dweeb. Why?” “I thought I detected a bit of tension,” suggested Mumphrey. “On account of the constant bickering and sniping” The irritating archer shrugged and plugged three straight shafts into their targets. “Just good hearted banter, leader-man.” “If it was good-hearted I’d be delighted with it,” the eccentric Englishman warned. Trickshot put down his bow and turned to Mumphrey. “You got something to say, old man, you say it.” Mumphrey snorted. “Gad, you have a real talent for turning any situation into a row, don’t you lad? Had a chap like you in my unit back in Ypres. Could start a fight in an empty room.” “You’re sayin’ I cause trouble?” “Of course you do, young fellah. That’s why the Legion keeps your around, because sometimes a chap’s got to go in all guns blazin’ – or arrows in your case. You’d be no use at all if you went soft, what?” “What?” Carl Bastion was finding that Sir Mumphrey Wilton wasn’t an easy man to argue with. “Surprised a crack archer like yourself hasn’t worked it out yet,” Mumph suggested. “Worked out what?” puzzled Tricky. “What the hell are you talking about?” Mumphrey pointed to the bowstring. “Hundred and twenty pound pull,” he recalled from the files. “Twice what they used to win Agincourt, and the bowmen there were puttin’ shafts through French plate armour like it was balsa wood.” “Yeah. With the right tip and the right shot I can split an engine block. So what?” “You’re not strong enough to shatter steel,” the old man pointed out, “so how d’ you do it?” “Kinetic and potential energy,” admitted the archer. “The string stores up my strength, concentrates it until the moment I let go. Then nothing can stop it.” “Jolly good,” agreed Sir Mumphrey. “You might want to consider your passion and anger an’ aggression as strengths too. And the more you learn to store them up and hold ‘em steady until the appropriate time to let ‘em go the better you’ll be. And then nothing can stop ‘em.” Trickshot blinked. “Am I being told off here, or coached?” Mumphrey’s face turned serious. “I’m guessin’ that you have things you want to do. Want to be. Things you’ve put on hold because you don’t know how to start to do ‘em. Maybe things about that Contessa Natalia. Maybe things about that roarin’ social conscience that sets you championin’ lost causes. Maybe something else, I don’t know. But not doin’ that stuff for too long is making you unhappy, and you’re firing your shots off sloppily – and you know I’m not talking about arrows.” “I always hit my target,” boasted Trickshot. “Then pick your targets carefully,” suggested Sir Mumphrey Wilton. “And let fly.” “Alive?” hissed Whitney Darkness. “Jay is alive?” “Yes,” her grandmother Hagatha repeated. “Jay Boaz is alive. He was imprisoned in Faerie, and it was a changeling double that died in combat beside the Lair Legion.” But the Sorceress was trained to consider the edges of things, and even her first flush of renewed hope wasn’t sufficient to drown out the witch in her. “How do you know?” she challenged. “And how long have you known?” “It was only a matter of asking the right questions,” Hagatha Darkness told her grandmother. “And a little scrying into the Many Coloured Lands.” “When did you know?” “I have known for some time,” admitted Hagatha. “Since before the funeral?” demanded Whitney, the fury in her rising. “Since before I made a pact with Blackhurt and tried to turn back death?” “For some time,” the old woman repeated. “I had hopes that you might take your grief and use it to forge yourself into the magic-worker you have the potential to become…” “You didn’t tell me because you didn’t want Jay back. Didn’t want me ‘wasting’ myself on a lover, or on ‘playing’ with the Lair Legion! I was dying inside and you just watched me and said nothing…!” “I said plenty, Whitney, but you weren’t listening,” snapped Hagatha. “Play all the word games you want, you bitter old crone!” screeched the Sorceress, “but the truth is you didn’t want Jay back and you kept him from me. You betrayed me!” “If I had betrayed you then you would be standing here in my ruined old bones now and I would be young and fresh in your body,” spat Hagatha, “for that is the bargain Blackhurt offered me. But he also showed me that keeping this… information about Hatman from you is a weakness that might be used against us, so I’m telling you now.” “You are an evil, spiteful hag!” shouted Sorceress. “Get out! Get out of here! If I see you again, ever again… I’ll kill you.” Hagatha eyed her coldly. “You may try,” she answered, before walking from the room. But Whitney had no time for her grandmother any more. All her thoughts now were concentrated on one thought: “Jay...” “You can’t trust him,” CrazySugarFreakBoy! warned for the hundredth time. “I mean it. He’s only here to worm out our secrets, like Terra in the Wolfman/Perez Teen Titans issues.” Sir Mumphrey Wilton was a man who believed in doing his research, and he’d set Asil and HALLIE on this earlier. “Not like the Swordsman, who joined the Avengers to betray them and became infected with the team’s spirit and went on to become one of them in fact?” Sir Mumphrey therefore became one of the very few people to ever stop CSFB! in his tracks in mid rant. “What?” “So I’m told,” the eccentric Englishman qualified his assertion. “I haven’t consulted the primary texts.” “I got ‘em upstairs in TPB format,” Dreamcatcher Foxglove answered by reflex. “And a full run of Thunderbolts. Well, not the Fite-Bolts stuff, obviously, but…you’re saying Mr Epitome might reform?” “Isn’t it only fair to give him a chance? As you did with those chaps in the Goofball Gauntlet?” “The Globetrotting Gangbusters,” CSFB! corrected him. “That’s what they’re called now.” “They used to be called villains,” Mumphrey pointed out. “Unreliable, untrustworthy, and unwanted.” “But they were never tools of a crypto-fascist state like Epitome is,” argued Dream. “They weren’t masquerading as good guys to bring forward their agenda of social domination and soulless order like that asswad…” “No galley room talk, please, Mr Foxglove,” Sir Mumphrey cautioned. “Not here and not in public.” “Hey, I was brought up by a mom who was a stripper porn star. This is how I speak.” “Hmph. Someone as sensitised as you are to the nuances of language ought to know that folks will dismiss you and what you’re sayin’ if you can’t express yourself decently. They’ll throw out the message with the envelope.” “Sometimes the swearing is the message,” CSFB! pointed out. “And sometimes it just gives people and excuse to write you off,” Sir Mumphrey suggested. “Look, I’m an army man. I’ve used ripe language in my season. But not in front of…” “The ladies?” “The folks who’ll judge me by how I can put forward my ideas without a smokescreen of profanity. You don’t like bullies, right?” CSFB! bristled. “Of course not.” “Then don’t bully people with your language, son. Enough said.” Dreamcatcher Foxglove wasn’t sure enough had been said, but Mumphrey pushed on. “Now as to Mr Epitome joinin’ the Lair Legion, you wouldn’t want me to throw him off without a chance, would you? I thought that’s what you were objecting about when Goldeneyed sacked Nats.” “That was different.” “Because you liked Nats?” “Because Nats wanted what’s best for the LL. Epitome doesn’t.” “But does he get his chance to prove otherwise?” challenged Mumph. “Like the Gangbusters? Or the Swordsman?” “I guess so,” conceded CSFB! Next time he’d come batter prepared to do battle with Sir Mumphrey Wilton. “Swordy died.” “Ah, caught you at last!” Sir Mumphrey called out as dull thud carried a high stack of speakers and amplifiers towards the open rear doors of Big Thick Eddie’s transit van. “Jings!” winced the rumpled roadie. As he flinched the top box teetered and fell. Somehow the acting leader of the Lair legion was able to get there in time to stop it smashing on the ground. “Got it.” “Ah can explain,” promised thuddy, handing over the rest of the pile to Eddie. “I was just borrowin’ it. I always bring it back.” ~~That is true~~ Cressida, the wonder worm that dwelled in thud’s gut admitted. ~~He cleans off the vomit and everything~~ Sir Mumphrey peered into the back of the van and then at the guilty-looking thud. “Am I to take it that you are borrowing Lair Legion sound equipment without authorisation to use in some kind of performance event?” “For tonight’s gig at the Fatal Toilet” Big Thick Eddie explained happily, oblivious to thud’s warning gestures. “Flint Michigan and the Creaking Bedsteads. But our amp’s blown so thuddy said…” ~~I think the answer has to be ‘yes’, Sir Mumphrey. I offered to transmute the public house’s damp into amp but Davie says that doesn’t get the proper sound…~ “Dinnae throw Cressie oot of the Lair Legion!” dull thud blurted. “She had a broken childhood!” “It was my understanding that Cressida’s origins remained a complete mystery,” noted Sir Mumphrey. “Nor is Cressida in any danger of being expelled.” ~~No thanks to you, Davie.~~ “I didn’ae know he was setting up a sting operation tae catch us,” thud protested. “Actually, I was just hoping to catch you for a bit of a chat,” Mumph explained. “I’m trying to have an informal chin-wag with all the Legionnaires.” “Ah. Right.” “I had no idea your removal of Lair Legion property was unauthorised until you mentioned it.” “Ah.” Sir Mumphrey shook his head wryly. “So I’d better authorise it, I suppose. Just get is back with, um, with all the vomit cleaned off, there’s a good chap.” ~~Thank you, Sir Mumphrey~~ “Call me Mumph, m’dear. We’ll have our little chat another time when you’re less busy.” Big Thick Eddie heaved the last of the equipment into the van. thud called out a cheery relieved thanks. “Just one question,” the eccentric Englishman admitted. “What is a Flint Michigan and the Creaking Bedsteads?” “Ah well,” warmed thud, “growing out of the indy sounds of the 90’s with strong roots in the…” ~~It’s a music group~~ explained Cressida hastily. “Ah,” Mumphrey understood. “A popular beat combo. Well, have a nice bop, you youngsters.” “So, Ms Waltz, how are you enjoyin’ your return to the Lair Legion, hmm?” Lisa strolled across the LL Living Room and poured herself a cappuccino. “Pretty much business as usual,” she breezed. “You?” But Sir Mumphrey Wilton wasn’t easily fooled about some things. “Not so sure it is business as usual, Ms Waltz,” he frowned. “Will you do me the honour of being honest with me?” “About what? I’m a lawyer. Being honest isn’t what I do.” “About how you feel to be back on the team you helped create.” “It’s just great,” Lisa smiled. “Really.” “Not feeling a bit strange, surrounded by all these new folk when you keep glancin’ round expecting your old dear friends?” Lisa’s smile cracked a bit. “Things change. Sure, I miss Enty and Donar and Sersi and J… spiffy…” “You feel like things have moved on and left you behind.” The amorous advocatrix snorted. “Maybe,” she admitted. “Okay, coming back wasn’t what I expected. I used to be so much more central to the team. So much more…” “Needed?” “Yes, dammit,” Lisa admitted. “I was needed. I could cheer the guys on and they did better, tried harder. Now they don’t need me for that.” “Why not?” wondered Sir Mumphrey. “They just don’t.” “Because they have Dancer?” Mumphrey could see at once that the shot had hit the bullseye. “No, of course not. Dancer’s great. She’s kind of like me but without the bitch and slut parts.” “And?” “And… she’s there. Where I was. They love her. They should love her. She’s… better than me.” Mumphrey snorted. “Ms Waltz… Lisa… You’re a brilliant young woman of extraordinary gifts. You dragged yourself out of a nightmare childhood to forge the finest band of heroes your generation could wish for. You mothered a wonderful young lad, who I believe is doing extremely well in that exclusive school you found for him in the Silver Age dimension. And sometimes, well, bitch is a word people use for a determined woman who gets done what needs doing, and slut is misused about those with a generous amorous nature.” “And half the LL aren’t speaking to me because I helped Ruby in her case against Nats.” “Hmph. Well, they probably don’t know about where the fees for that went, eh? Or the other pro bono work you make damned sure the Legion never find out about.” Lisa’s eyebrows shot up. “How…?” “HALLIE ransacked Epitome’s laptop,” Mumphrey noted ruthlessly. “Nice,” the amorous advocatrix admitted. “Sneaky.” “It isn’t a contest between you and Dancer, Ms Waltz. She has lots to offer the team, including a boundless enthusiasm and a heart as big as all outdoors. But only you can be the First Lady of the Lair Legion.” Lisa blinked hard and wiped her hand across her eyes. “I want to be a part of the group,” she admitted. “You are,” Mumph assured her. “At the roots, deep down where the foundations are set forever after, and at it’s soul, where its passion and care lie. You could go away for a hundred years and come back and there would still be a place for you.” The First Lady of the Lair Legion didn’t often blush. “Thanks,” she said. “I guess I needed someone to tell me that.” “Oh, Ms Waltz, never doubt that we need you, what?,” the eccentric Englishman told her gallantly. “There are many good reasons I inveigled you back onto the line-up, but I’ve flattered you enough for one day.” “Not necessarily,” grinned Lisa ruefully. “I could manage a bit more.” “So I hear,” snorted Mumph. “Well then, let me just say that if I was thirty years younger, looking for a fascinatin’, beautiful, gifted, sophisticated young woman to take out for a night of wining dining, and romance, yours would be the first door where I’d come a-knockin’.” Lisa sniffed and adjusted her hair. “You are a very nice man, Sir Mumphrey,” she admitted. “I’m a total bastard when you get to know me,” he assured her. “So?” Lisa said defiantly. “I’m a slut. And a bitch. And I’m really good at it.” “We should all play to our strengths,” agreed Sir Mumphrey Wilton. “Doing anything special at thirteen hundred hours on Friday, Dr Harper?” asked Mumphrey, poking his read round the laboratory door. “Afternoon Mr Robinson, Mr Corben, Ms Pyrite.” “I don’t think so,” Al B. Harper considered. “Why?” “Splendid,” the eccentric Englishman nodded. “I’ll see you in the Meeting Room then, for your Associate Membership induction ceremony.” “Okay,” Al replied as Mumph hurried off down the corridor. “Hey! What?” “Morning, chaps and chapesses,” Mumph called out to the Junior Lair Legion as he sauntered into the classroom of the world’s greatest superhuman training school. “Hey,” called Kerry with a casual smile. “Sir M,” acknowledged Fashion Accessory, with a hopeless sigh at the 1950’s tweeds and the 1920’s boots. “Heilsa, hoary old leader,” called Harlagaz, balancing his chair backwards with his boots on the desk. “Doth adventure beckon?” “Are you allowed to call him hoary?” worried Ham-Boy. “Hello, Sir Mumphrey,” Glory the wonder-dog called out, pressing her paws across her voice translator computer. “It is good to small you again.” “Where’s Visionary?” Mumphrey wondered. “I just need a bit of a chat with him.” “Ah,” winced Ham-Boy. “He’s… in the locker there.” “In the locker?” puzzled Mumph. “Yeah, he was demonstrating arrest procedures for us,” Fashion Accessory explained. “How to handcuff felons.” “I still saith it would be better to rend their limbs from their bodies to prevent them from flee-ething,” argued Harlagaz. “Visionary was demonstrating the handcuffs and placed them on his wrists and ankles,” Glory said helpfully. “We figured he was showing us an escape act so we shut him in the locker to get on with it,” Kerry shrugged. “Nobody fused shut the tumblers on his handcuffs or anything.” “We are waiting to see how Visionary escapes the trap,” Glory said innocently, with a cheerful wag of her tail. “I’ll, um, go let him out now, shall I?” said Ham-Boy guiltily. “Who’s got the key?” “I think it was over on Kerry’s desk,” frowned Fashion Accessory. “Right where that little melted puddle of metal is now.” “Ah well, I’m sure we can take the new lock out of Kerry’s allowance,” suggested Visionary, strolling into the room with a mug of coffee. “Were you looking for me, Sir Mumphrey?” “What?” gasped Kerry Shepherdson, biting down hard enough to splinter her pen. “Huh?” frowned Fashion Accessory, mouth open. “How…?” wondered Ham-Boy, “and uh-oh.” “Howeth?” called Harlagaz, slipping backwards off his chair with a loud crash. “Wonderful!” yipped Glory. “That was very clever.” “Just wanted a quick word, Visionary,” Mumphrey declared. “Now you’re free.” Vizh dismissed the class for a quick break, letting them warily file out past him, with glances back to the sealed locker. “Please don’t let him be twins,” muttered Kerry nervously. “Hey, if he’s, you know, F-A-K-E there could be hundreds of him,” worried FA. “Well that went well,” Vizh grinned as the door closed behind the students. “I have no idea how you got me out of that locker, though.” “And neither will they,” smirked Sir Mumphrey Wilton, keeper of the Chronometer of Infinity, . “And that’s the point.” Visionary sipped his hard-earned coffee. “Yep,” he agreed with satisfaction. “The point is,” confessed Dancer, “that since Lisa came back I don’t really think there’s any need for me to be in the Lair Legion.” Sir Mumphrey Wilton sighed and steered her towards the cappuccino maker. “Well, old chap, I did what you suggested,” Sir Mumphrey Wilton reported, leaning back into a comfortable armchair and enjoying his reward cigar. “Spoke with nearly everyone. Don’t know where young Nats got to, or Whitney, but all the rest.” “Is good,” agreed Yo, lounging on the other armchair in his/her male form. It seemed more appropriate here in Mumph’s office. “Yo is not to be liking when Yo’s friends are to being falling out.” “Always going to be some tension when you gather the very best together,” Mumph pointed out. “And they are the very best, y’know.” “Yo is thinking you are being proud of Lair Legioning.” “Damn me if I ain’t,” agreed Mumphrey. “Finny’s a lucky fellah to be in charge of these chaps.” He glanced again at Yo, “And chappesses, of course.” “You are not to be being bothered that Yo is a genderless thought being, sometimes Yo man sometimes Yo woman.” “Hmph. I know lots of chaps from Eton,” shrugged Mumph. “And you are not looking forward to when Finny is to be coming back to be taking of leading again?” “It won’t be long now,” the eccentric Englishman reported. “Few weeks at the outside now that Xnylonia business is settled.” “But you are not looking forward, yes?” Sir Mumphrey brushed his moustaches ruefully. “Bit worried about what he’ll say when he sees what I’ve done to his team,” he admitted. “Line-up and organisation’s a bit different. And Epitome might be a shock.” “Lisa and Visi are also to being shocks,” grinned Yo. “Is good to be making cute-Finny shock sometimes.” Mumphrey snorted. “But until the Makluan gets back we need to keep the show on the road, as they say in thespian circles, what? And we need an Acting Deputy Leader for the Field Team.” “Yo is thinking Dancer will be very good.” “She’d be fine,” agreed Sir Mumphrey, “but I really want someone at the moment with more experience. So I checked who the longest servin’ field team member was, the one who was there right back to the days when the LL was the League of Regulars.” “Lisa? She is also being good choice.” “Lisa’s an associate these days, not on the field team,” Mumph pointed out. “No, Yo old fellow, it turns out the senior member of the current line up… is you.” “Yo?” “That’s right. So I’m appointin’ you deputy leader till Finny gets back. Fair enough?” Yo sat open mouthed for a moment. Then s/he asked, “Is this to mean LL will now all to be wearing cute bunny costumes?” Coming Next: As according to the results of the Untold Survey a while back, Untold Tales takes a hiatus while other stories get told. So we’ll be going to the daily posting of Sir Mumphrey Wilton and the Lost City of Mystery for a short while before getting back to the sub-plots here (sorry Nats!). There’s a reason for this though: the next few issues of Untold Tales are affected by the outcome of the World War II series, and since I haven’t posted the outcome (or actually written it as of right now) it seems to have become kind of a priority. So next week, Cyborg SS, Nazi Vampires, Derek’s Bar in Casablanca, the mystery of the Blathervilles, the evil of the Expediter and much more. And Next Untold Tales Issue: Remember Tales of the Parodyverse #6: My First Big Felony, where Hacker 9 kind of swapped all the top secret espionage databases between agencies? Well that little story takes place sometime before next issue and you could perhaps expect a little bit of reaction from some of the Lair Legion *coughFalconEpitome*cough*. Plus more on Nats and Uhuna, on Sorcy and Hatty, on Al B. in the LL, Yo as Deputy Leader, and a few other bits that are best left as surprises. Join the romp in Untold Tales of the Lair Legion versus Hacker Nine: A Data With Destiny - but don’t input your credit card details. Farewell, My Footnotes: The Line-Up as of #154: Sir Mumphrey Wilton (non-member, acting leader!) Field Team Members: Yo (Deputy Leader), CSFB!, Sorceress, Trickshot, Nats, Dancer, Cressida, Falcon (probationary), Manga Shoggoth (probationary) Epitome (probationary) Associate Members: Lisa, Visionary, the Librarian (probationary), Al B. Harper (probationary) The Junior LL: spiffy, Kerry Shepherdson, Harlagaz, Ham-Boy, Fashion Accessory, Glory The Support Staff: Flapjack (Major Domo) HALLIE (resident AI), Amber St Clare (US Government liaison), Asil Ashling (secretary/administrator), Mindy Pyrite (mechanic), Art Corben, Randy Robinson (interns), Resident Banshee: Marie Murcheson Post Carrier: Wally Dumpkiss And a quick apology: When I proofread this very late last night for the first time since I wrote it about four weeks back it occurred to me that there were a couple of scenes I might possibly have checked out with posters before publishing. I’m sorry I didn’t have time to do that. I hope I’ve not misportrayed your characters. Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2004 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2004 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Ian Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. |
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