RP: Living on Borrowed Crime

RP: Living on Borrowed Crime

Reserved for: Negaduck and Malicia

Ah, an exceptionally muggy night for an exceptional night of mugging. The week-long heatwave presently holding St. Canard in its soupy grip had rendered the streets vacant of villains and useless crime-fighters alike. They, much like the rest of the city's population, were holed up inside their air-conditioned homes or, as was the case for the less fortunate, crowded inside malls and rec centers across the city to desperately wait out the hot humidity. 

Pah! What a bunch of wimps.

Even after the sun had set, the sticky moisture hung in the air like a fog. This suited Negaduck just fine, and he made a point of that as he strolled up to the warehouse in his several layers of impeccable fashion, not a trace of sweat on his brow. The heat never bothered him anyway. A possible side effect of living in a dimension where global warming had long surpassed an inconvenient truth; it was a way of life. 

Or perhaps it had to do with the present company he kept. 'Kept' being a very loose term in this context, much like the hostess of the house he was currently blowing a hole through. Knocking was also for wimps. 

It was evident by this loud entrance that Negaduck could not care less about whether he was discovered. On the contrary, this was his customary greeting when dropping by to visit Malicia. Well, that and wordlessly sneaking up from behind with a well-prepared quip and a slap to her generously padded posterior. The latter also being a reason why he was so accustomed to what essentially amounted to hip-thrusting into the surface of the sun.

But today was not a booty slapping day (that's on Thursdays). Negaduck had plans that somehow surpassed the size of Malicia's big arse, and that was saying something. And as much as he would've liked to continue internally narrating several more bottom-reaching jokes for another two paragraphs, he had bigger priorities. Yes, even bigger than Mal's-- okay, fine let's get to the point. Quota reached. 

"HEY LARDY GAGA." He shouted up the stairs to where Malicia was no doubt admiring herself at length. "You know you'd have to stand at least 6 miles away from the mirror to get a full view back there, right?"

Okay that one wasn't said narratively and therefore doesn't count. 

    • Negaduck
      Negaduck

      Either her immense.. vanity was too predictable, or the camera he had installed in the toilet was getting a good signal, for within her boudoir came a shriek befitting a hundred damned souls, followed by a fireball hurled in his general direction.

      Wherever he landed, a claw hooked under his turtleneck to hoist him the substantial distance to the sizzling eye level of Malicia Macawber.

      "One more large joke out of that monstrous bill and I will RIP THAT TINY PEA BRAIN FROM YOUR HEAD AND EAT IT."

      Dropped like a suit-encased sack of dung, she turned her ladylike and totally not ragebeast attention to face the damage that pilfering little pest had made to her entrance.

      "A stampede of horn covered snicklebacks would cause less havoc in my home than you." A snap of her fingers and a bookcase scampered block over the hole, fortunately not made by a larger mallard. She would have to see to further reinforcement later, perhaps even some bunny-launched decoys. "Do you think my magical reserves are bottomless?"

      A rhetorical question, and one that would do him absolutely no good in answering. 

      • Queen Malicia of St. Canard
        Queen Malicia of St. Canard

        Too bad he was all about the no-good. "I don't think there's any part of you that's bottom-less." Preemptive dodge of the claws that were likely reaching for his neck at that very moment. 

        "But enough foreplay, I've got something that'll make that gaping hole well worth my entrance." He readjusted the hat she had so carelessly tantrumed off his head. "If you ever bothered paying attention to anything outside your own reflection, you'd know the whole city is having a collective heatstroke. Which means every safe and jewelry case in St. Canard is ripe for the picking. Even Dipwing Dunce and his attention-starved ego can't handle the heat."

        "But..." Risking mortal peril now as he slid his hand down the smooth curve of her waist. "I know I can." He purred lowly over her shoulder. "And between the both of us, we'll stuff our hands into every money-stored crevice of the city without breaking a sweat."

        A pause to add as an afterthought. "Not to mention all the excess power consumption shorted out three city blocks, including the Basset Robins Creamery. Pity about all that ice cream going to waste. Hopefully someone will come along to Ammonia Pine the area with their mouth." Yes, let that imagery sink in for a moment. 

        • Negaduck
          Negaduck

          That did sound appetising. While the poor populace bathed in their own sweat, she would be bathing in shiny things. Also icecream.

          Malicia knew better, however, than to trust a Negainvitation any more than a sign reading 'FREE DEMON TREATS'. 

          "You've never needed help stuffing your hands into all manner of crevices before." His lecherous roaming tolerated out of curiosity and not because those gravelly invocations of badness made more than Basset Robins Cream. "Why, Negaduck, are you sharing?"

          A cuss word in his books, no doubt, and a new page in Rebarka's if there was any truth to it.

          • Queen Malicia of St. Canard
            Queen Malicia of St. Canard

            No doubts confirmed as he instinctively recoiled at the very notion. "I think you've been huffing one too many souls from that freaky collection of yours." Or at least he assumed that's what she did with them, because that is what he would do. Nothing takes the edge off quite like the spiritual essence of Dead Duckling, amirite?

            "For once in your extensively long life you're actually right, Malicia." He sneered. "I don't need you, never will. So sorry to disappoint." How's that for invocations. "But the two of us can cover more ground and fleece every inch of this city before sunrise. Besides, if I go it all alone you know I'll have to bring along the thermal detonators. And if the blast wave just happened to topple over the buildings housing all of St. Canard's designer shoe stores, well..." He shrugged nonchalantly. 

            "Tell you what, since I'm feeling mighty generous I'll let you keep any extra shiny treasures we come across." Because Hades knows how much of a pain in the ass it is to fence that cheap flashy crap anyway. "Even the rings." That won't fit around those massive hoofs you call hands. 

            His hand was snaking along the length of her tail now. "And if you're a good girl, I'll give you plenty of melted cream to lap up when we're all finished." This final proposal emphasized by his fingers deftly working their way to that special spot at the base of her prehensile appendage. A little flick of the finger here, a bit of applied pressure there... 

             

            • Negaduck
              Negaduck

              Knee him in the Baby Huey and throw him in the Bay. That's what she should have done.

              Yet, for reasons potentially linked to her endless self interest, Malicia turned the proposal over instead.

              "I could use some new-" What did they call it? "Bee-ling. Something truly exquisite for a glamorous, sophisticated lady such as moi."

              The fitting component of that would always be the challenge.

              "But we are not taking that flying eyesore of yours." Yes, its gaudy design and not the sheer deathly terror it instilled in her was the problem. "This time I will be making an entrance befitting this city's finest queen."

              *** 

              It was atop a converted school bus, atop an equally bus sized heel, covered in metallic spankex and flanked by the furling of a dozen fiery flags that she finally rolled into town.

              What, she had researched this and it was how the interwebs told her queens made their customary appearance these days.       

              "MAKE WAY BITCHES!" Hollered from her Jimmy Choo-Choo chair. "Malicia Macawber in da house!"

              Did that work for an outdoors arrival? Where was that Suburban Dictionary when she needed it. Whatever, she was going to own it. Bring on the shinies!