Status: One-shot; completed.
Carmichael
Brilliant.
Carmichael stood with his back to the early morning sun, which was radiating a heat unheard of for this time of year. It was sweaty and gross and he just wanted an ice-cream, dammit. He wanted purple, something purple and grape-flavoured (because really, what other flavour would a purple ice-cream be? That’s what I’d like to know. Stop looking at me like that).
Now, don’t misinterpret me here, I’m no fan of this here Carmichael. His whole blowing-up-the-sports-stadium plot lost him a reasonable amount of favour in the city. Not entirely unwarranted.
He donated to charity but that was due to his inability to know what to do with all that loose money; he didn’t want to put it in a bank and carrying it around with him, and storing it in his temporary homes just seemed unnecessary and avoidable, you know?
I digress. Maybe he didn’t intend to hurt anyone with his foiled sports centre plot, maybe he just had something against cricket or football. Maybe he thought it useless or undemocratic or something else like that.
Regardless, the main point to understand here is that Carmichael wanted an ice-cream. As you can probably understand it’s quite difficult (and needlessly boring) for a somewhat intelligent, somewhat super villain to walk into an ice-cream parlour and spend his time hmmmm-ing and mmmmm-ing over all the different types of ice-cream (cheesecake ice-cream was a thing now, really?), and therefore, this presented a somewhat big hurdle to his getting of said ice-cream.
“This sucks monkey testes,” Carmichael sighed. With a feeble flap of his cape (he had to flap it manually; there was no wind that day), he sat on the edge of the building, hid feet dangling and wanting to develop a mind of their own and tumble to the ground.
As I mentioned, Carmichael was somewhat intelligent; he was not a mastermind, or even a good mind, but he could put two and two together. It just took him a bit of time on some occasions.
Given this semi-flaw, it was a few minutes later that he sprang to his feet (almost taking a fifty story high face-plant or – as it is known colloquially – death), and punched a fist into the air like that Bender guy from The Breakfast Club. Carmichael did have a soft spot for that movie, despite the fact that nothing was blown up during its course.
“Yes! Of course, it’s brilliant! Brilliant!”
With his swimming goggles pinched firmly to his skin and digging a groove into the bridge of his nose, Carmichael perched on the very edge of the building, swaying just a little and threatening to plummet. But he kept his balance with his super grip shoes and raised a firm hand to the sky.
“I command thee, with the force of my hungry stomach, let the winds rise, let the sky soar, let the sun be clouded with flying morsels of tasty, tasty food. Give me ice-cream, world! Grape, toffee crunch and Freddo frog encrusted!”
With the force of a group of gods (one angry, one vengeful and one triumphant) a great hurricane was born in the east and swept its way through the city. It caused no damage as it went but swept the stores dry of their sweet milky produce. Carmichael laughed evilly; distant theft was a specialty of his, and who was going to arrest the wind? Well, maybe ex-Commissioner Bradley Boone, but he thought his dentist was attempting to steal his teeth, so Carmichael figured no one would listen to him.
With the sun shining aggressively on his back, Carmichael waited as the ice-creams flew at him as if to say;
“Eat me first! I have a delicious cherry ripple!”
“ No, I am the best clearly!”
“Back the fuck off, choc chip! You are so boring, I can’t even.”
“Can’t even what?”
“Can’t even finish my sentence, obviously.”
“Step off, fool. Clearly I am the best.”
“Shut up, both of you.”
Carmichael laughed again and stepped back slightly as all the ice-creams soared over his head and landed on the roof. He turned; they lay at his feet like a bunch of servants waiting to be ordered. Carmichael was spoiled for choice and decided to collect the dairy delights and take them back to his blimp. Whether or not it was sad to spend his afternoon alone eating ice-cream in his blimp and watching Knight Rider reruns, he didn’t care – well, not a lot. There wasn’t anyone around to look down on him for it. Well, except for aeroplanes who flew overhead but Carmichael didn’t much like pilots anyway.
Now, don’t misinterpret me here, I’m no fan of this here Carmichael. His whole blowing-up-the-sports-stadium plot lost him a reasonable amount of favour in the city. Not entirely unwarranted.
He donated to charity but that was due to his inability to know what to do with all that loose money; he didn’t want to put it in a bank and carrying it around with him, and storing it in his temporary homes just seemed unnecessary and avoidable, you know?
I digress. Maybe he didn’t intend to hurt anyone with his foiled sports centre plot, maybe he just had something against cricket or football. Maybe he thought it useless or undemocratic or something else like that.
Regardless, the main point to understand here is that Carmichael wanted an ice-cream. As you can probably understand it’s quite difficult (and needlessly boring) for a somewhat intelligent, somewhat super villain to walk into an ice-cream parlour and spend his time hmmmm-ing and mmmmm-ing over all the different types of ice-cream (cheesecake ice-cream was a thing now, really?), and therefore, this presented a somewhat big hurdle to his getting of said ice-cream.
“This sucks monkey testes,” Carmichael sighed. With a feeble flap of his cape (he had to flap it manually; there was no wind that day), he sat on the edge of the building, hid feet dangling and wanting to develop a mind of their own and tumble to the ground.
As I mentioned, Carmichael was somewhat intelligent; he was not a mastermind, or even a good mind, but he could put two and two together. It just took him a bit of time on some occasions.
Given this semi-flaw, it was a few minutes later that he sprang to his feet (almost taking a fifty story high face-plant or – as it is known colloquially – death), and punched a fist into the air like that Bender guy from The Breakfast Club. Carmichael did have a soft spot for that movie, despite the fact that nothing was blown up during its course.
“Yes! Of course, it’s brilliant! Brilliant!”
With his swimming goggles pinched firmly to his skin and digging a groove into the bridge of his nose, Carmichael perched on the very edge of the building, swaying just a little and threatening to plummet. But he kept his balance with his super grip shoes and raised a firm hand to the sky.
“I command thee, with the force of my hungry stomach, let the winds rise, let the sky soar, let the sun be clouded with flying morsels of tasty, tasty food. Give me ice-cream, world! Grape, toffee crunch and Freddo frog encrusted!”
With the force of a group of gods (one angry, one vengeful and one triumphant) a great hurricane was born in the east and swept its way through the city. It caused no damage as it went but swept the stores dry of their sweet milky produce. Carmichael laughed evilly; distant theft was a specialty of his, and who was going to arrest the wind? Well, maybe ex-Commissioner Bradley Boone, but he thought his dentist was attempting to steal his teeth, so Carmichael figured no one would listen to him.
With the sun shining aggressively on his back, Carmichael waited as the ice-creams flew at him as if to say;
“Eat me first! I have a delicious cherry ripple!”
“ No, I am the best clearly!”
“Back the fuck off, choc chip! You are so boring, I can’t even.”
“Can’t even what?”
“Can’t even finish my sentence, obviously.”
“Step off, fool. Clearly I am the best.”
“Shut up, both of you.”
Carmichael laughed again and stepped back slightly as all the ice-creams soared over his head and landed on the roof. He turned; they lay at his feet like a bunch of servants waiting to be ordered. Carmichael was spoiled for choice and decided to collect the dairy delights and take them back to his blimp. Whether or not it was sad to spend his afternoon alone eating ice-cream in his blimp and watching Knight Rider reruns, he didn’t care – well, not a lot. There wasn’t anyone around to look down on him for it. Well, except for aeroplanes who flew overhead but Carmichael didn’t much like pilots anyway.