Don't ask what went through my mind. All I know is that I've been spending the day struggling with my current WIP and that Tank's little revenge set a lunatic Muse in gear for some reason. Be warned that what follows won't make any sense if you haven't read Tank\'s Evil Story .
Disclaimer: the author can't possibly be blamed for this bit of craziness!~ Escape From the Haircut ~
By Bozo the Clown's Long Lost Daughter
Kaethel threw her copy of the Daily Planet to the far end of her prison cell and let out an angry growl. That... that *fink*! Even dead, even *headless*, he had managed to get his way and throw havoc into the world as she knew it.
Lois Lane had cut her hair!
And... she held back a sob... Jimmy was dead. Sweet, innocent Jimmy had died because he had wanted to avenge her, and there hadn't been a damned thing she could have done about it. If only he had come to her first, explained what he wanted to do, she could have talked him out of it. She could have swallowed her pride, worn a wig and prevented Jimmy from murdering Tank Wilson.
She had known from the start that the two men couldn't stand each other. It had been very clear in the meaningful glances they exchanged whenever they had to be in the same room. She remembered overhearing Clark Kent say once that if looks could kill, Jimmy Olsen and Tank Wilson would have both been dead a long time ago. They had disliked each other all their lives. Jimmy had always been afraid of Tank, or so he had confided in Kaethel. And Kaethel suspected that he had every reason to be wary around the bearded style consultant. For some reason, Wilson didn't seem to want to stick to cutting Jimmy's *hair*. He had once cut the boy's ear with his hairdresser's scissors, and Jimmy had suspected that it had been on purpose.
Kaethel had been forced to cope with an infamous Tank-hairstyle, but at least she had got out of it mostly unscathed. Well, barring the humiliating experience of being called Bozo the Clown whenever she met people these days. But her hair would grow back, and the dye was bound to fade after a while. It wasn't like she'd stay orange and spiky for the rest of her life.
One might argue that she didn't have to care, since she was looking at spending the next twenty years in jail.
She sighed wearily. If only she could find a way to get in touch with other supporters of the long-haired-Lois cause outside...
If only...
*********
"Are you sure it's the right key?" a voice whispered into the night.
The sound was enough to wake Kaethel with a jolt, and she straightened on her uncomfortable bed. She huddled herself in a corner of the cold cell, ready to pounce on the intruder. Heart thudding, she listened for sounds coming from the door.
"Of course I'm sure," another voice hissed back. "You don't think I rented a helicopter and took all those risks for nothing, did you?"
"What if she's not in her cell?"
"And where would she be? Last time I checked she wasn't gifted with ubiquity."
There was a growl and a... a squeak?!? - then the door opened to reveal two hooded figures... and... and a small rodent sitting on the tallest one's shoulder, and wearing a hood too! What was that rodent doing with a hood?
"We're here to set you free," one of them said.
Kaethel looked at the two by four that one of her impromptu guests was holding. "What is that for?" she asked warily, frowning in suspicion.
"Oh that!" Was Kaethel imagining things, or was there a grin hidden behind the hood? "Nothing. It's... well, you'll see, it might come in handy."
The rodent squeaked in agreement under its mask.
"Now come on! We can't waste any time!"
"Wait! I can't follow you without knowing who you are. Or why you're trying to set me free."
The three hooded figures cocked their head to the side, then theirs hoods were lifted off. Shrugging off her surprise at seeing the small rodent lift its own hood with its paw, Kaethel gasped as she found herself face to face with two women and a rat, all of them smiling friendlily at her.
"I'm El," the one holding the two by four said. "I can't deny that I like Mr Wilson a lot, but it's Olsen who chopped his head off, not you. Not to mention I like the idea of heads being chopped off. I'm sure my late husband would, too, if he hadn't been insensitively killed by a fellow colleague of Tank's. And when my partners here - " she gestured towards the other woman and the rat, " - promised me a little action, I couldn't resist." She grinned down affectionately at the two by four in her hands.
"I'm Wendy," the second woman said. "I've always preferred Lois Lane's long hair, and when I read in this morning's paper that she had chopped off her hair, I knew I had to get you out of jail so that we could find a way to make it grow back. I always tried to talk Tank Wilson out of that stupid haircut idea, but he wouldn't listen. For some reason he was convinced that Lois would look much better with short her. But the truth is, a world with a short-haired Lois Lane destroys the balance between good and evil, and we can't let that happen."
"I'm LabRat," the rat said then, and Kaethel almost fell over upon hearing a rodent speak. "And I know what it is to be locked in a cage all day, even if Bernie feeds me cheese whenever I want and gives me pencils and paper to write. But here they haven't even given you pencils and paper, so I sympathise. Besides," LabRat added with a mischievous smile, "I'm sure it's going to be entertaining to watch El use her two by four."
"What do you need to two by four for?"
El grinned evilly, a sight that didn't truly reassure Kaethel. "You'll see."
As they made their way onto the prison's roof, it dawned on Kaethel why the two by four was needed, and she wondered for a minute if twenty years in prison wouldn't have been better than... than... than having to get inside that... dratted flying thingy.
"It's a helicopter," El explained with an evil grin.
"I know what it is," Kaethel growled. "Is it absolutely necessary?"
"Unless you want to bungee jump from the roof, yes it is."
A few minutes (and use of the two by four) later, they were airborne and flying towards a small town in Minnesota where rumours had hinted at the existence of a bearded ghost who cut the hair of every woman he came across. This time, they would make sure his scissors were broken and impossible to repair. He could haunt beauty parlours all he wanted as long as he didn't hold a pair of scissors.
*********
Nearly Headless Tank was sharpening his pair of scissors when he heard the knock on his door. He stopped humming the soft rock song that had haunted his mind for the past couple of minutes and frowned. He didn't expect any visitor tonight. In fact, he hadn't expected any visitor since that brainless kid Olsen had chopped his head off. He'd been lucky to find his head again and crazy-glue it back to the rest of his body, but now he was immaterial, which, while it allowed him to sneak into houses and cut women's hair in their sleep, was rather annoying most of the time.
Thankfully he had found a way to type on a computer keyboard and stay in touch with the world through that system. These days, he spent his time writing fantasy stories about haircuts. But something was missing in his life.
Of course he had been very happy to learn that Lois Lane had finally cut her hair of course. Deliriously happy even. Of course he had been even happier when the news of Jimmy Olsen's death sentence had reached his house here in Minnesota.
But now that Lois's hair was short and that Jimmy was dead, what could he possibly do?
He was bored. Incredibly bored. And there was something not right with the world; somewhere in Metropolis, Lois Lane and her fiance were doing icky stuff; even the short hairstyle hadn't dampened Clark Kent's enthusiasm about his future bride.
So much for hoping that Lois would move to Minnesota and spend the rest of her life with him!
So he had to find another way to occupy his mind.
The knocks on his door became more insistent, and he rose from his chair with a growl.
"We know you're in there, Wilson! You can't hide!"
"I'm a ghost!" Tank retorted with a smirk. "Of course I can hide!"
"We'll hunt you down until you give us your scissors!"
Tank opened the door, feeling safe in the knowledge that whoever was behind it was powerless against him.
"I recognise you," he said to the three women and the rat standing in front of him, their hands on their hips and their expression disapproving. "You," he pointed to the woman sporting a very short and brightly red hairstyle, "are the French intern that Lucy used for her haircut exam." He moved his gaze to the tallest woman, "You... you sometimes work with me, but you never believe me when I tell you Lois would look much better with short hair. We always fight about that." He raised his eyebrow at the third woman and didn't hide his disappointment. "I thought you were a fan of mine!" he said reproachfully.
"I am! But I couldn't resist the lure of taking the scissors away from you. They're good torture instruments! Might come in handy to force Evil Yvonne to resurrect my husband!"
"And you... you're a rat!!"
The rodent nodded and waved its paw at Tank.
"What do you want from me?"
"Your scissors," Tank's fan said with bright, eager eyes.
"And a potion to make Lois's hair grow back," Bozo the Clown's long lost daughter added.
"And a promise never to retire from fanfic writing," Tank's partner demanded.
The rat squeaked and stood on her paws to waggle a claw at him. "And a promise to send all your stories to my cage."
"And what if I don't accept the deal?"
"Then... then we let our two by four equipped friend take care of you."
"She has a guillotine, you know?"
"And she knows how to use it."
"I'm already headless," Tank argued stubbornly. "And you know I'll cut Lois's hair again if you let it grow back."
"It's all right, we can deal with that."
Tank sighed and shook his head. These women were quite stubborn and obviously very determined, and he wasn't sure he wanted to convince them to go away. Maybe they were right. Maybe it could be fun. "I accept," he said after a short moment's reflection. "I won't retire ever, and I'll even let you win on the topic of Lois's long hair. Occasionally. But on one condition."
"What condition?"
"That you never ever resurrect Jimmy in any shape or form."
~ The End ~ (because if I don't stop here, you're really going to think I've gone nuts
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