fiction - brigits_flame - Schadenfreude
Apr. 10th, 2011 04:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hwangoThe chamber was cloaked in stygian gloom, the shadows pierced only by a few feeble lamps shielded by red glass. If he’d been asked, Doctor Apocalypse would have said that this choice of lighting was meant to provide a sinister atmosphere conducive to diabolical planning. However, the truth was that he found several of his confederates in the Nefarious Nine physically repellant, and this way he couldn’t see them very well.
All five current members of the Nefarious Nine were seated around the massive black marble table, except for Oswald the Living Brain, whose jar rested directly on the table in front of what would have been his chair if he had possessed the necessary body parts to sit in it. And technically Nosferatoucan was perched and not seated.
“I suppose you’re all wondering why I called you here,” said Doctor Apocalypse after everyone seemed to be settled.
“I’m not,” said the crackling disembodied voice of Oswald the Living Brain.
Not for the first time, Doctor Apocalypse considered how much he wished it were physically possible to strangle Oswald.
The Nefarious Nine had endured for decades as a way for the major rivals of the Collegium of Quite Exceptional Individuals to at least attempt to work together. Alone, none of them were a match for the Collegium. Together, they could at least have someone else to blame when the Collegium inevitably thwarted their schemes for world domination or the accumulation of vast quantities of other people’s wealth. It was not a society held together by camaraderie.
“I’ve come to the realization that I hate all of you far, far more than I hate anyone in the Collegium of Quite Exceptional Individuals,” said Doctor Apocalypse. “Or, more accurately, I’ve known that I hated all of you for a long time, but have finally decided to acknowledge that I’ve reached my limits and do something about it. I believe the time has come for us to disband the Nefarious Nine.”
“Isn’t that a little extreme?” said Myriapode. “Hating each other’s guts hasn’t mattered before. I think even the original nine hated each other when they first formed the Nefarious Nine.”
“I’m more interested in why you bothered to gather a meeting just to tell the people at that meeting that you don’t want to meet with them any more,” said Oswald the Living Brain.
“Basically, I felt that – STOP THAT BLOODY TAPPING!” Doctor Apocalypse shouted this last at Herr Schadenfreude, whom Doctor Apocalypse had finally determined as the source of the quiet tapping of fingers on the underside of the table. The damage was done, though, and he already had the accursed song stuck in his head.
His train of thought not merely derailed but sent plummeting into a gorge with the wreckage of a demolished suspension bridge, Doctor Apocalypse paused to collect his wits. The problem wasn’t just that he hated these people. The real problem was that the current membership was the most embarrassing lot of misfits in the entire history of the organization. His most valuable ally in the room was a vampiric toucan. That was evidence enough that he’d reached an all-time low.
“Look, if you want to quit, that’s fine. But you can’t make the rest of us disband,” said Myriapode.
“You must be joking!” said Doctor Apocalypse. “You know that I’m the longest-serving member! It’s my group in the first place! You can’t have the name without me!”
“The name? Are you serious?” said Oswald. “Like the four of us would really need to call ourselves the Nefarious Nine! Don’t you think maybe it’s time you faced reality about that anyway?”
And with that, the same old arguments were rehashed yet again. The same old insults flew. “Well, at least I have limbs!” was an old favorite, since almost everyone could use it. And then Myriapode would point out how many more he had.
In the shadows, Herr Schadenfreude grinned. He couldn’t remember the last time he even bothered to scheme against the Collegium. Just coming to these meetings and watching Doctor Apocalypse was so much more fun.
All five current members of the Nefarious Nine were seated around the massive black marble table, except for Oswald the Living Brain, whose jar rested directly on the table in front of what would have been his chair if he had possessed the necessary body parts to sit in it. And technically Nosferatoucan was perched and not seated.
“I suppose you’re all wondering why I called you here,” said Doctor Apocalypse after everyone seemed to be settled.
“I’m not,” said the crackling disembodied voice of Oswald the Living Brain.
Not for the first time, Doctor Apocalypse considered how much he wished it were physically possible to strangle Oswald.
The Nefarious Nine had endured for decades as a way for the major rivals of the Collegium of Quite Exceptional Individuals to at least attempt to work together. Alone, none of them were a match for the Collegium. Together, they could at least have someone else to blame when the Collegium inevitably thwarted their schemes for world domination or the accumulation of vast quantities of other people’s wealth. It was not a society held together by camaraderie.
“I’ve come to the realization that I hate all of you far, far more than I hate anyone in the Collegium of Quite Exceptional Individuals,” said Doctor Apocalypse. “Or, more accurately, I’ve known that I hated all of you for a long time, but have finally decided to acknowledge that I’ve reached my limits and do something about it. I believe the time has come for us to disband the Nefarious Nine.”
“Isn’t that a little extreme?” said Myriapode. “Hating each other’s guts hasn’t mattered before. I think even the original nine hated each other when they first formed the Nefarious Nine.”
“I’m more interested in why you bothered to gather a meeting just to tell the people at that meeting that you don’t want to meet with them any more,” said Oswald the Living Brain.
“Basically, I felt that – STOP THAT BLOODY TAPPING!” Doctor Apocalypse shouted this last at Herr Schadenfreude, whom Doctor Apocalypse had finally determined as the source of the quiet tapping of fingers on the underside of the table. The damage was done, though, and he already had the accursed song stuck in his head.
His train of thought not merely derailed but sent plummeting into a gorge with the wreckage of a demolished suspension bridge, Doctor Apocalypse paused to collect his wits. The problem wasn’t just that he hated these people. The real problem was that the current membership was the most embarrassing lot of misfits in the entire history of the organization. His most valuable ally in the room was a vampiric toucan. That was evidence enough that he’d reached an all-time low.
“Look, if you want to quit, that’s fine. But you can’t make the rest of us disband,” said Myriapode.
“You must be joking!” said Doctor Apocalypse. “You know that I’m the longest-serving member! It’s my group in the first place! You can’t have the name without me!”
“The name? Are you serious?” said Oswald. “Like the four of us would really need to call ourselves the Nefarious Nine! Don’t you think maybe it’s time you faced reality about that anyway?”
And with that, the same old arguments were rehashed yet again. The same old insults flew. “Well, at least I have limbs!” was an old favorite, since almost everyone could use it. And then Myriapode would point out how many more he had.
In the shadows, Herr Schadenfreude grinned. He couldn’t remember the last time he even bothered to scheme against the Collegium. Just coming to these meetings and watching Doctor Apocalypse was so much more fun.
