Fen and Raiyn are Chicago Gangsters - HELLIONMORESBYMUSCLES

[Tiana Calthye]

Author's note: Rated PG-13 for implied gun storage and prostitutes.

 

As some of you know, I co-write with another writer. As some of you also know, I'm currently in Chicago for a few days. With my writer friend. So, you know. We had to throw some of our existing characters into a new situation.

 

FEN AND RAIYN... are Chicago Gangsters.

 

Critique - I don't think it really needs critique as it will never go anywhere but this, and it is really just a bit of satire. Do not read if you're not up for a bit of sardonic noir. Sort of noir.

 

<><><>

Fen was sitting at home with his Sox baseball hat, smoking a cigar when Raiyn burst into the room. The door exploded into fifty billion little splinters as she sauntered in on a beam of sunlight and dust, spitting out her cigarette onto his marble floor and stomping on it as she strode in on stilletos long enough to do terrible things to a man’s anus. “Where’s my money, Calthye?” she demanded, slamming her Louis Vuitton handbag onto the table and leaning over it, breathing smoke into his baseball cap enhanced face.

 

Fen doffed his baseball cap, revealing a fedora underneath, and with the cap he lazily waved the smoke away, wafting it back up into her fake eyelashes. “You should have remembered that getting paid was conditional on all my men making it out alive, darling.”

 

“It ain’t my fault Bob overdosed on prostitutes, babe.” She sidled over, sliding onto the walnut desk and gazing down through her massive lashes and down at his ambiguous gender.

 

Fen glanced back up at her, taking vague offense at what had been narratorially implied as he straightened his bomber jacket. “From what I’d been hearing, you led him straight into it. Where are the others, at the bottom of the canal?”

 

“At the bottom of a brothel,” she said affectionately, dropping her trenchcoat to the desk and leaning forward just a bit more—enough to force her breasts into his line of sight, as if they weren’t already at the peak of his interest.

 

Fen eventually tore his gaze away and slipped out of his bomber jacket, revealing the trenchcoat underneath. “You’re already costing me a pretty penny. You won’t see a dime from me, not this time.”

 

“I expect to see a little bit more than a dime,” she suggested huskily, leaning forward even more, so that her massive melons portruded beneath the hawk-like peak of his even more massive nose. “Benjamin might be nice. A bunch of Benjamins.”

 

He held a hand up so that her absurdly long eyelashes would not leave streaks of mascara across his forehead. “So commission some portraits.”

 

She daintily brushed streaks of mascara from her breasts, wiping her fingers on his cheeks. “Not without the money you owe me, baby.”

 

Fen sighed and removed his trenchcoat, revealing a thick down-filled parka underneath. It was getting a little warm in here. “You want to do the job over again, and properly this time, then you get the money.”

 

“I brought you the painting,” she snapped, taking off her flapper hat and setting it down on the table, revealing a hidden safe and taking it off as well. It had a few streaks of stray makeup from her eyelash mishaps.

 

Fen leaned forward a little, his parka rustling. “Let’s see it.”

 

She opened up the safe slowly, seductively, sensually, and removed the Mona Lisa from the safe safely.

 

“It travelled well,” Fen said, inspecting it with a spyglass three feet in diameter. “However.” He tossed the spyglass behind him, where it shattered against the marble, contributing to the massive mound of broken glass already sitting there. “It’s a replica. A fake.”

 

“You didn’t think I was going to find the Mona Lisa in Chicago, did you? I had to commission some guy on a street corner who was singing for his supper and happened to have a pocket full of oil paints just waiting to make a fake replica of a famous painting.”

 

“Yes, I wasn’t under the impression that Paris was in Chicago,” Fen said gravely, lifting his fedora and revealing a tiny bowler hat underneath. “Did you do anything with this man painting on the street after he had finished your commission?”

 

“I bought him McDonalds.”

 

“That poor sod.”

 

“But I believe there’s a certain matter of money still between us,” Raiyn said, equally gravely and with the tones of gravefulness coming in between her and Fen and their contesting hats. She reached down between her thighs and shifted up her dress, eventually hauling out a gun and snapping her panties back into place. Settling back on the desk, she leveled the rather warm gun at his face.

 

“There’s nothing to—” Fen coughed, turned aside, and gravely spat out a piece of gravel. “Excuse me. There’s nothing to discuss.”

 

“I agree,” she said, and shot him with the intent of sending him to the grave.

 

The bullet ricocheted off of his chest, up to the ceiling, where it hit his spyglass chandelier and sent it cascading down to the floor behind him, contributing to the pile of already-smashed spyglasses. “That was my supply for the next three months,” Fen said in aggravated grave tones, pulling off his parka to reveal another bomber jacket, and when he pulled that off, there was a bulletproof wetsuit underneath.

 

She gazed thoughtfully at his rather rippled chest. “What are you wearing beneath that suit, I wonder.”

 

“This suit is my one remaining link to the mortal world.”

 

She chuckled, and then shot him in the face, sending his tiny bowler hat flying, which revealed the Stetson he was wearing underneath.

 

The bullet ricocheted off his face, flying to the other end of the foyer, where it hit his other spyglass chandelier, sending it crashing to the floor and killing Fen’s robot butler. Fen sighed, and peeled off his face, revealing a bulletproof face underneath. He tossed his ruined cigar aside and selected a fresh one from his desk drawer. “Care for one?”

 

“Oh, I have my own,” she said, digging around between her skirt.

 

“Oh, not again,” he grumbled gravely.

 

She withdrew a cigar case and took out a cigar, tossing the case behind her into the pile of shattered glass.

 

Fen held out a lighter and a tiny axe with which to chop off the end of the cigar. “Were there any other matters you wished to discuss?”

 

“There was that tiny matter of the money you owed me, yes,” she said firmly, snapping the cigar in half quite pointedly with a glance down towards his pants. “And the fifty-seven prostitutes Bob bought before his untimingly decent to the grave.”

 

“That’s Bob’s business, isn’t it?” Fen waved his cigar airily, and also gravely, because it seemed the thing to do. “Fine. I’ll give you a treasure map. I have a few on hand.”

 

“It’s not Bob’s business because if it was Bob’s business, it would also be Bob’s business that he didn’t come back without a pair of cement shoes and a trip down the Mississipi.”

 

“Take the map, darling.” Fen pulled an ancient piece of parchment out of another desk drawer and held it out. “Twenty paces north, ten south, hail a cab, find a ferry to the Amazon River, and follow the rest of the directions.”

 

She unfolded the piece of ancient parchment paper and unrolled it onto the desk, sliding off of the desk and leaving a trail of damp and makeup behind her. She dusted it off with her feather hat and then spread out the time-damaged map for the light to reveal. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spyglass, would you?”

 

[fin]

Edited February 26, 2012 by Guest

[Amidala Skywalker]

LOL, that was worth quite a few chuckles. I love how you guys can take serious situations, turn them farcical, and yet still have them brilliantly written.

 

Loved all the hats and coats. Made me chuckle every time a new one was revealed. And I loved all the alliteration--"gravely gravel" and such.

 

Hope you're having a great time in Chicago! Even though I only live 8 hours away, I've never been there.

[Tiana Calthye]

Well, come on and we can meet up! QUICK!

 

I'm glad it gave you a good chuckle. We actually wrote several more chapters after this point with more characters.. ARIANE AND ELACHI... TIANA AND XIIAN... SAERIN AND XAN... DION AND RAIYN... so I could keep posting our rapidly devolving writing about Chicago gangsters. There's like another six chapters or so. I think by the end everything just kind of lights on fire.

[Lord Ar-Pharazon]

Even though I only live 8 hours away, I've never been there.

 

It's six or six and a half hours.

 

Yeah, I liked the story too, Tiana. I was amused by all of face-exposure. The bullet proof face was a nice touch. Though, I don't have to post it here, since I told you about it already, in real life.

 

POAST MOAR!!

[DarthBrendo]

I thought I replied to this.

 

Thoroughly enjoyed it. It felt deliberately over the top, playful yet maintained some tension.

 

I gather these are characters you write with elsewhere?

[Tiana Calthye]

LAP: Yes, you already told me in real life.

 

Brendo: I'm glad you enjoyed it. The other chapters aren't quite so great, I think, but I'm going to post them anyway. They are definitely characters we write in other stories, and the subsequent chapters bring in more characters just because, well... because.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWO: ARIANE AND ELACHI ARE CHICAGO GAN--ER--no, probably just drunks.

 

Author's note for other readers: Ariane is 5"1, Elachi is 6"7, Malchani is an elf-like race that does not hold drink. It does get back to Raiyn and Fen eventually, but we wanted to pick on some of our other less gangstery characters.

 

 

 

Ariane, who was a particularly intellegent mobster overlord, looked up at her particularly not so intellegent thug. “Get me a beer!”

 

Elachi looked down at the thug, who was between them in height. “You heard her. Get her a beer.”

 

The thug got Ariane a beer and she gave Elachi a little withering sort of glare. “You knew who I was talking to, Kyrie, and it wasn’t him! He’s my pet thug. You’re my servant thug. You’re the one who’s supposed to get the beer ladder and bring me ice cold beers from the Rockies.”

 

Elachi shook his head. “What else would you keep him for? He’s good at ladders.”

 

“He’s good at…” Ariane gave a little sort of shifty look at Elachi. “Personal things. You wouldn’t know, being as I had you casterated from a very young age in order to make sure that your voice was as beautiful as your ability to take out anyone who dared question my authority over the Chicagian landscape.”

 

“Yes, well, that didn’t work very well, did it,” Elachi said in his melodious soprano. “I hate the opera.”

 

“I have an idea!”

 

“Please let it involve someone other than me.”

 

“Take me to the opera!”

 

“Why don’t you get your pet thug to take you?”

 

Ariane looked up at her pet thug, who was trapped on the ladder and couldn’t figure out how to get down. “Oh, his mental process is too low. Incidentially, could someone call the fire deparment?”

 

“Never mind that.” Elachi sighed and walked over to the ladder. He took either side of it in his hands and began to shake the pet thug off.

 

Eventually the pet thug came crashing down, along with several kegs of ice cold beer. They shattered in a heap along side Fen’s spyglass collection which hadn’t yet been cleaned up.

 

“I still haven’t figured out why we sneaked into Fen’s private lobby,” Elachi added.

 

“Well, that’s easy,” Ariane said happily, straightening her fedora. “He has beer and we do not.”

 

Elachi began sweeping up the shattered glass, kegs, and pet thug. “Would it not have been easier to get your own beer?”

 

“Of course it would have! But that would not have furthered my goal to take over Chicago one beererery at a time!”

 

“I think you’ve already had one too many.”

 

“I’m a Malchani. One is already two too many.” She snapped her fingers. “Besides, we need to threaten Fen’s domain somehow. Since we can’t make his favorite baseball team lose, we’re just going to have to steal his beer. Maybe then he’ll respect me and my thugs! Then I can be the godmother!”

 

Elachi glanced up at the one remaining spyglass chandelier. “Well, while we’re at it.” He picked up the pet thug and threw him at the chandelier.

 

Blood and glass rained down upon the lobby. “That was an excellent idea!” Ariane decided, pushing the pile of glass out of the lobby. “Now let’s light it on fire.”

 

“Security!” Fen yelled from the other end of the lobby, throwing down his Stetson and stamping on it, underneath which was a sombrero. “Get these drunks off of my property at once!”

 

“Yeah!” Ariane yelled at him as security dragged her off. “You know me, and you fear me!”

 

Fen squinted across at her. “What was your name again?”

 

“Bring it, motherf—” Ariane yelled as the door slammed in her face, cutting her off.

 

“Terribly sorry about the mess,” Elachi added as he too was dragged out, though by a few more guards than it took for Ariane, the door slamming after him shortly after.

 

 

 

 

 

Meanwhile, at the opera”¦

 

 

CHAPTER THREE: SAERIN AND XAN ARE (probably not) CHICAGO GANGSTERS

 

 

Meanwhile, at the opera…

 

In one of the private booths lining the opera house’s walls, Xan removed his monocle to polish it. “I can’t see a bloody thing through this.”

 

“That’s because you’re not nearsighted, dear,” Saerin told him, looking up from her knitting.

 

Xan grumbled to himself and tossed the monocle over the railing, ignoring the indignant shout from below. “How is that scarf coming along?”

 

“Make your own damn scarf. These are socks.”

 

“I was only asking.” He glowered at the stage. “I still can’t see. When are they going to turn the lights on?”

 

“How should I know? I’m knitting.”

 

“Who are those socks for?”

 

“Left and Right, my thugs.”

 

“You should stop hiring thugs and get minions instead.”

 

“I was talking about my feet, dear.”

 

“Yes, but still. We need proper minions.”

 

“I’m not hiring my feet. They came with me willingly.”

 

Xan ignored the ear-splitting notes of the opera’s introduction and turned to look at the socks. “I didn’t know yarn came in glow-in-the-dark.”

 

“How else am I supposed to put my shoes on in the dark?”

 

“Very true.” Xan took another monocle out of his pocket.

 

“Did you get those from the same glass supply store as Fen gets his spyglass chandeliers?”

 

He gave her a scandalised look. “I don’t go in for monocle chandeliers, if that’s what you’re implying.”

 

“No, you’re right,” Saerin admitted, casting off. “I think you just broke your glasses again, didn’t you.”

 

“What if I did.” Xan fitted this latest monocle over his eye.

 

“You know those cost money, don’t you?”

 

“We’re Chicago gangsters. We can afford it.”

 

“Yes, well, if you’re going to rob a bank, leave me out of it. I don’t think they allow knitting needles in prison.” She began the next sock.

 

“Not even plastic ones?” Xan snorted. “Prison just isn’t interesting anymore.”

 

“I don’t own any plastic knitting needles, sir. I only own sword-shaped knitting needles. Because that’s all you allow in our dubious mansion of gangsterfulness.”

 

“I did what I could, all right? Sword-shaped needles are the only kind that fit into our decor.”

 

“And now we’re known as that eccentric couple who lives in a house full of swords. Not gangsters. Even if you think it makes us look really badass. And it’s really quite rude to be talking in the middle of an opera, don’t you think?”

 

“It’s the only thing remotely rude that we’re doing right now, my dear. We aren’t even doing anything illegal at the moment. I have to disrupt the public somehow.”

 

“Well, if you insist.” Saerin sighed and got up. “Here, come over here for a moment.”

 

“Why?” he said suspiciously, but got up as well.

 

“Cloooooser.” She set her glow-in-the-dark knitting aside.

 

Still suspicious, Xan followed along.

 

Saerin shoved him over the edge of the balcony and ignored the second round of indignant shouts below.

Edited February 26, 2012 by Guest

[DarthBrendo]

lulz. This is greatly amusing.

[Lord Ar-Pharazon]

Chicago will never be the same.

 

Since we can't make his favorite baseball team lose, we're just going to have to steal his beer.

 

Also, that was evil. Rigging baseball? Stealing beer? That sort of stuff DOES happen in Chicago. You should look up the 1919 World Series. It shouldn't come as a surprise to see which team it involved.

 

Interesting writing. This is a genre that I'm entirely unfamiliar with. Does it have a name? Chi-Town-Noir-Comedy? Mob-Fantasy?

[Amidala Skywalker]

LOL...you amuse me, T. I love Ariane's responses throughout, and Saerin's knitting at the opera was a nice touch.

 

 

Now I'm starting to think about this for some of my characters...lol.

[Guest]

I lurk no more!

 

Thought I'd pitch in thanks for the nice responses. T and I had a ton of fun writing this, and it's always a bonus for other people to get a kick out of it too.

 

LAP: Fen is unapologetic about his Sox hat. I'm sorry.

[Lord Ar-Pharazon]

I lurk no more!

 

Thought I'd pitch in thanks for the nice responses. T and I had a ton of fun writing this, and it's always a bonus for other people to get a kick out of it too.

 

LAP: Fen is unapologetic about his Sox hat. I'm sorry.

 

You lurk no more? About damn time.

 

Fen can die in a fire then.

 

So, are you just making a cameo or is Jandalf here to stay?

[Tiana Calthye]

Fen can die in a fire then.

Well, that's okay. We were planning on perma-killing him in the main line of plot so Raiyn could become Mind, and didn't know how to kill him. Fire will do!

 

Brendo: Thanks!

 

LAP: I think it's just called satire, but I'm not sure. GANGSTER SATIRE. I was thinking about you every time I poked at a baseball team, yes. You're right about Chicago never being the same!

 

Ami: Yeah, Saerin just isn't the mob sort. And also EVERYONE IS A CHICAGO GANGSTER, so you go ahead and do this to your characters too!

 

For the record: Jandalf was writing Fen, Elachi, and Xan and I was writing Raiyn, Ariane, and Saerin. Most of the time it's an every other paragraph deal.

[Tiana Calthye]

Meanwhile at the floor-level seating at the opera…

 

Xiian yelled indignantly as a monocle bounced off the top of his head. “For Al’s sake! I’m just trying to settle into this cultural experience here!”

 

“I told you you should have worn that top hat,” Tiana told him as she settled into her seat rather gracefully.

 

“No good,” Xiian said, rubbing the top of his head. “A spyglass crushed it.”

 

“It’s not my fault you were at Fen’s at the wrong point in time,” she said absently. “You know he’s prone to interesting fits of rage and glass. Particularly when the Sox lose.”

 

“Baseball.” Xiian shook his head. “He needs to try the opera. Why else would one live in a major metropolitan centre? I ask you.”

 

“I agree heartily,” Tiana agreed, heartily, and checked her pocket for the betting pool on the outcome of the opera. There were quite a few on the death of the heroine.

 

Xiian noticed this and said, “I’ve heard there are excellent odds on the main characters’ servant getting strangled.”

 

“I read the book. There’s a happy ending,” Tiana said with a grin.

 

“Oh.” Xiian sank back into his seat in disappointment. “I thought this was supposed to be the opera.”

 

“Yes. It is the opera. That’s why the lead singer is screaming bloody murder.” Tiana waved a hand at the stage. “If you’d like, you can assassinate the heroine and fix the bet in your favor.”

 

“I suppose so.” Xiian glanced up to one of the private boxes. “I just wish they would shut up. They just keep talking.”

 

“You mean, like us?”

 

“It’s all right for us. We’re Chicago gangsters.”

 

“And we’re sitting in the cheap seats, so it’s to be expected that we’ll be rude and unruly until the murder at the end of the show.” Tiana paused. “Murder? Did I say murder? I meant happy ending.”

 

“I heard murder.” Xiian glared up at the private box again only a moment before someone fell out of it and crushed him.

 

“Xiian!” Tiana wailed distressfully as the falling man took him to the grave. But he wasn’t dead, as he gave an indignant shout and pushed the falling Chicago gangster off of his hatless head.

 

“I’ve said it time and again!” Xiian dusted off his shirt. “Nobody invests in decent guardrails anymore!”

 

“Only in science fiction,” Tiana recommended, adjusting his cravat. “Say, did you bring any thugs?”

 

“Oh, yes, I had just about forgotten.” Xiian pulled three thugs out of his coat pocket.

 

The thugs rounded on the unconscious man lying on the opera floor floor. It wasn’t much good. He was out of it, and they prodded at him and waved around some epsom salts to try get him back to consciousness.

 

“I think you need a different kind of salt for that,” Tiana said absently, propping the falling man up into the seat and putting her hat on his head and then hanging her coat around his shoulders. “Well, if he’s going to join us, we may as well make him useful.”

 

“Yes,” Xiian said, nodding his approval, and propped his fourth and fifth thugs up against the unconscious man as well. “And I think you mean the smelling salts. The stinking salts. Oh, who needs that. We’ll just take this man out to the back lane after the opera and leave him there.”

 

“I did bring a garbage bag and some concrete shoes just in case.”

 

“You’re a well-prepared gangster,” Xiian said appreciatively.

 

“You can get emergency gangster kits at Walmart. And Target. Target has everything.”

 

“Yes…” Xiian sat back down. “Walgreens has those little gangster kits, too, but they’re not as good.”

 

“They make the concrete shoes out of plastic!”

 

“True, but at least it’s something. We can’t all afford concrete shoes.”

 

“I heard the Louis Vuitton line is making some concrete handbags.”

 

“Oh, good, our thugs can carry those.”

 

“We can’t have poorly dressed thugs. We must be at the top of fashion, after all. Though I believe they’re intended for murdering, not for decorating.”

 

“Then why on earth would they have made them into handbags? Instead of, say…” Xiian waved his hand about vaguely. “Hatchets?”

 

“For undercover murder, of course,” said a voice from behind him as a concrete knitting bag slammed into his head. Saerin dropped down into the aisle and shook Xan a little bit as Xiian slumped to the floor in an unconscious heap. She poked him a few times, moving the thugs over to the side.

 

Just then, the climax of the opera hit and the chandelier crashed into the audience, sending shattering bits of spyglass everywhere.

 

A man in the middle of the audience got up, screamed at the roof, and ran from the room.

 

“I didn’t think it was all that dramatic,” Tiana said with a bit of a sigh.

 

“I thought it was going to be a happy ending,” Saerin said, with an even bigger sigh.

 

“Yeah. Pay up!” Tiana said, snapping her fingers, and collecting on the opera bet pool.

 

They left together, leaving their unconscious Chicago gangsters behind, and went for coffee at Starbucks, because there were five across the street.

 

 

 

 

TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR RAIYN AND FEN!

[Amidala Skywalker]

Another quite amusing update. And I hope Jandalf sticks around a bit on the site! You two have been partners in crime for as long as I can remember!

[jedi_master_gimpy]

Lol, this stuff is great, Tiana and Jandalf! Well-written humor hitting the finer points of the stereotypical gangster and taking literalness quite literally as far as it can go. It reminds me of the good ol' days with some of the Psychotic Padawan enemies, such as Right Hand Man who had, you guessed it...just his right hand!

 

Without having all of the character backstory that you two do, they are still extremely amusing - and I imagine only more so when you are as familiar with the characters as you two are!

 

I think my two current fav is torn between the first installment with Fen and Raiyn... or this last one, which brought a couple of them together.

[Tiana Calthye]

Ami - It's been seven years now! It really has been for almost as long as I can remember... certainly for all of my Jedi.net career.

 

Gimpy - Yeah, this is definitely Fanfic cera Psychotic Padawans... or at least part of that era's style. The first update is definitely the best because after that it was mostly written in between us laughing hysterically and going NO DO THAT DO THAT YES AHAHAHA THAT'S FUNNY WE SHOULD POST THIS. It gets really weird by the, uh, the end. Kind of the end. Well, where we stopped writing.

 

They are definitely funnier with the character backstory but since much of it is not written in any chronological format, I can't just post it. Raiyn and Fen are canonically drinking buddies. He's the Calthye and the Maldlahin of Mind and has been alive for thousands of years, though I'm not sure being a ghost counts quite as alive. Due to a twist of fate he was brought back to life, though, and Raiyn just sort of decided to pick on him since he was such a prig. The reason the first part is funny to ME is because Fen is absolutely not a gangster... he is a srs royal leader who Raiyn introduced to beer. Raiyn is herself, but exaggerated times five thousand. Xan and Saerin are also a Maldlahin pair. I won't say too much about them because I think I'll be posting the Eye of the Storm here. It's funny to me because again, Saerin is herself but exaggerated, into someone in the middle of a series of events she doesn't particularly care about... as usual, because Xan got into shit. Like Fen, it's funny because she's not a gangster type. The sword shaped decor is just a running gag with us because he makes swords. I already explained why Ariane and Elachi were funny. The real reason Tiana and Xiian is funny is because Canada does not have Walgreens or Target and we were just lampshading that EXPERIENCE of shopping in America. Thanks for reading.

 

 

 

<><><>

 

 

The opera was well over and the ushers were cleaning up the splinters of spyglass chandelier when Raiyn burst into the room, her breasts jittering back and forth, map clenched between her two enormous tits. She dashed up the velvet rug and up the stairs, through piles of glass and irritable staff, into the main chamber which echoed with the lingering phantom of an opera.

 

She looked around, blinking mascaraed eyes, confused. “This isn’t the Amazon. I may have taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque.”

 

Sitting down in the nearest chair, she extracted the map from between her breasts and unfolded it to examine it in greater detail.

 

“I do believe,” she finally said, peering through a splinter of a spyglass, “that this map is not genuine. It is a fake.”

 

She looked over to the two unconscious Chicago gangsters still sitting in the opera house. One of them seemed to nod slightly, and Raiyn nodded as well, folding up the treasure map and stowing it underneath her left breast. There was only one thing left to do—she would show Fen what she was capable of, and he would rue the day he ever tried skimping out of paying her!

 

She hauled the two unconscious gangsters out of the opera house with some help from the two thugs still guarding them. Whatwith all of the connections, it was practically inevitable that having them in her possession would give her the upper hand when it came to Fen. “Hey, Dion!” Raiyn hollared, opening up her car. “Give me a hand! I’ve got these two Chicago gangsters currently in a particularly interesting state of unconsciousness in need of some ropework!”

 

Dion was not in the car.

 

Dion was clinging to the underside of the car. He jumped out from under it and declared, “Sure thing, mom!”

 

“What the hell were you doing under there?” Raiyn gasped, clutching her breasts to her face in shock.

 

“I was, uh, I was, um, fixing the car.” Dion bounded closer with some rope that he just happened to have on him.

 

“You were fixing the car,” she repeated, shoving the gangsters at him and then bending over, checking underneath the car for naked women.

 

There were five of them under there.

 

Raiyn nodded cheerfully. “I’m glad to see you’ve got us some minions!”

 

Dion shrugged as he tied up the other two Chicago gangsters. “Well, they’re not exactly minions.”

 

Raiyn winked at him. “They’re not exactly thugs either, if you know what I mean.”

 

“Suuuure,” said Dion, and shoved the two tied up Chicago gangsters into the trunk. “Where to now?”

 

“Take me…” Raiyn said omniously, “to FEN’S PLACE.”

 

Tiana crawled out from underneath the car and put on her shirt again. “I’m not a minion!” she complained, as they drove off into the distance. Then she headed with Saerin back into Starbucks.

 

Soon after, in Fen’s lobby…

 

Fen paced up and down the lobby. The piles of broken spyglasses were cleaned up, as were the pet thug and the spilt beer, and the shattered ladder that went to the Rockies, and his personal private beer supply, and the broken and now fixed doorway, and his sombrero. But all was still not right.

 

He put his trenchcoat back on over his bomber jacket as a car drove right through his doors, smashing them inward, and pulled to a stop right inside his lobby, a couple of naked women rolling out from underneath.

 

Raiyn lept from the car, pulling a gun out of her ear and leveling it at Fen. “We have some things to discuss!” she hollered over the sound of the naked women looking for clothing.

 

“That’s right,” chimed in Dion, leaping out through the driver’s side window, which was closed, shattering it all over Fen’s floor. “If you ever want to see your fellow gangsters again, you’ll do what we say!”

 

Raiyn went over to the trunk and opened it, pulling out one of the unconscious gangsters. “If you ever want to see your fellow gangsters again after this you’ll do what we say!”

 

Fen looked at them and gasped. And then he paused. And then he remembered he didn’t know them and shrugged.

 

Raiyn looked at him gravely. “You mean to say,” she said, stuffing Xan back into the truck and hauling out Xiian, “you don’t care if this man dies?!” She held him up dramatically.

 

“Not really,” Fen said with a shrug, pulling out a handgun and shooting Xiian in the face. The bullet richocted off of Xan’s spare monocle which had mysteriously stuck itself to Xiian’s forehead and smashed into the newly installed spyglass chandelier.

 

“Damnit!” screamed Fen, at the top of lung.

 

Raiyn cackled wickedly. “Then I’ll just have to… keep them alive!”

 

Fen stared blankly at her for a moment. “Well… okay.”

 

“That doesn’t bother you either?” she asked with a sigh.

 

“Found out the map was a fake, did you?” he said smugly, pulling on his parka over his trenchcoat which was over his bomber jacket.

 

“I suspect it will bother you when you find out just how I plan for these two gentlemen to live!” Raiyn plotted.

 

Fen said, “Well, I won’t know until you tell me, so… well… go on.”

 

“Exactly!” she cackled. “I won’t tell you!”

 

“Then why should I care?”

 

“You’ll find out!”

 

“I can hardly wait,” Fen groaned, and went back to his desk to order a new spyglass chandelier, because he just hadn’t learned yet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

*This was intentional. It is a reference to a

which everyone should watch.

 

**We once wrote a scene where Dion out of nowhere seduced Tiana, hence her being included under the car. He has his mother's powers of sexiness.

Edited February 26, 2012 by Guest

[Guest]

Where did these stories come from? Never before have I seen such FILTH and LIES.

 

Anyways, thanks for the welcome!

 

Also, Fen objects to the use of the word "prig". Highly offensive, you know. Very improper.

[Tiana Calthye]

HELLO URBAN DICTIONARY.

 

1. A person who demonstrates an exaggerated conformity or propriety, especially in an irritatingly arrogant or smug manner.

2. Chiefly British: A petty thief or pickpocket.

3. A person regarded as arrogant and annoying

4. Archaic: A conceited dandy; a fop.

Sounds about right to me, but if he insists, I can call him a fop instead.

 

[Guest]

Um... I mean, er... GOD SAVE THE QUEEN

 

Her Majesty's taste in hats has always been inspiring.

[Amidala Skywalker]

What a hat!

 

More amusing drivel. I love it.

 

And that video is hilarious. Reminds me of http://www.boingboing.net/2011/01/16/angry-badly-written.html

[jedi_master_gimpy]

Woah - she looks a little scary! It might come from having just read a gangster fic, but I'm detecting an evil glint in her dear old eyes!

 

Thanks for some more background, T. Amusing, as before! I like the consistently spinning more and more out of control feel as all of the characters intersect more and more in all their crazy quests and quirks!

 

Jandalf - you really should stay around more!

[Amidala Skywalker]

Look who's talking!

 

 

 

But I agree.

[Tiana Calthye]

Wellp, it's been almost a year since there were Chicago gangsters. (Yesterday, I was all like "Bennnnnnnnnnnn... Bennnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn... Daaaaaaaaaagobaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." in fond memory.)

 

So what else would I do except update this monstrosity. There was more, after all!

 

Why this one is hilarious: in canon, Hellion is the head of the freaking Order and also bloody Order himself, which makes him one of the most important people in the known galaxy besides... like... Fen. He doesn't need muscle to make people listen, he has a bloody army of psychicly charged crazies to make people listen. Moresby... is a cook. (and oh yeah also his guardian but beside the point.)

 

<><><>

 

“Hey hey, look.” Moresby adjusted the mounds of sample chocolates that he had stolen from a street salesperson, shifting them between his arms. “You got a bag? Something I can put these in?”

 

“Oh here, let me adjust my corset,” Raiyn said, as they burst out of Fen’s place with their car, shards of glass flying everywhere and a couple of random naked women rolling out from beneath the limo.

 

“Not that kind of bag!” Moresby yelled.

 

“There’s plenty of room!”

 

“You’re gonna melt all my chocolates!”

 

“Only if you let me!”

 

“Come on!” Moresby elbowed Hellion. “Let’s get out of here. Too many spyglass hazards.”

 

Hellion adjusted his muscles. “Right, boss.”

 

“Where’d our driver go?” Moresby glared down the street. “Driver!”

 

Hellion hauled one of the naked women over. “Here, she can drive, right, boss?”

 

“Yeah, well, she hasn’t got our car!”

 

“I don’t have my license on me either!” she complained, shrugging off Hellion’s arms.

 

“I sure hope not,” Moresby muttered. “Okay, man, hail a cab and we’ll steal it.”

 

Hellion waved at a taxi futilely for a while. None of them stopped. Eventually he sighed and removed one of his strap-on muscles. “I think they know we’re Chicago gangsters, boss.”

 

“Then stop looking like a thug, damn you!”

 

“Just hold on,” Hellion snapped, “and I’ll go undercover.” He peeled off his layers of pecs and abs and put on his suit jacket.

 

“Okay, good.” Moresby peered down the street again. “How about that cab there.”

 

Hellion waved nerdily at the cab.

 

The cab slowed, skidded on some of the beer that had spilled out of Fen’s lobby, and smashed into a street lamp. The spyglass chandeliers on top of the street lamp quivered and then smashed down onto the cab. The driver ran out screaming.

 

“Oh hey, that looks like Fen,” Hellion said suspiciously. “Maybe the fact that we’re standing in front of his lobby had something to do with the fact that no cabs are stopping, you think, boss?” He waved at the naked woman. “Here, carry my abs.”

 

“Myeahhhh, could be.” Moresby shoved his sample chocolates into the cab’s trunk. “Okay, let’s get outta here.”

 

Hellion climbed into the back and squeezed over beside his abs and the naked woman from Raiyn and Dion’s assembly of assorted assistants. “Right, boss.”

 

Moresby scowled at their continued lack of driver before clambering into the driver’s seat. He removed the bling from around his neck in order to be able to see out the window better and began backing away from the street lamp.

 

There was a rather signifigant dent in the front of the taxi, but it would do. At least there was no smoke pouring out of the engine, though Hellion suspected that it would only add to their sheer badassery. He nodded, stroked his abs thoughtfully, and then began strapping them back onto his noodly nerd arms.

 

“Why the hell was Fen driving a cab anyway,” Moresby muttered to himself before glancing back to Hellion. “Pay attention! You’re strapping your biceps to your stomach.”

 

“Oh. I wouldn’t know. I don’t normally have them, boss.”

 

“Yeah, well, get some medical diagrams or something.”

 

“Yeah, well… your mother.”

 

“Yeah, well, shut up.”

 

“Yeah, well, LAMP POST!”

 

“Aw shiiiiiit.” Moresby smashed into the post, and the cab’s engine promptly began to pour smoke.

 

“I suppose we’d better call a tow truck for that, boss.” Hellion paused a moment. “And steal it.”

 

“That’s right. Who cares about this cab.” Moresby phoned up a tow truck.

 

The naked woman, neglected and forgotten, peeled open a chocolate and began to eat it.

[Amidala Skywalker]

Lol, this is so crazy. I'm sure it was so much fun to write...I love that kind of stuff.

[Lord Ar-Pharazon]

Wellp, it's been almost a year since there were Chicago gangsters. (Yesterday, I was all like "Bennnnnnnnnnnn... Bennnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn... Daaaaaaaaaagobaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." in fond memory.)

 

I feel summoned, in a sense.

 

Well, per the site's rules, I am not allowed to make drug references. However, if I could, I would have inquired as to what sort of motivator you had behind this piece.

[Tiana Calthye]

I was going to make a quip about abusing caffeine and then I recalled that much like today, my circumstances involved being rather sick and hyped up on a drug cocktail consisting of Dayquil, Gravol, and Advil for the greater good and I was writing while feverish and sleep deprived, so, well, I was pretty much as high as I'm going to get.

 

I'm glad you answered your Force-ghostly summons.

 

Yes, Ami, it was fun.

[Lord Ar-Pharazon]

Sorry, I forgot the token: "OMG, write more!!!"

 

[jedi_master_gimpy]

Haha, glad you're coming back to this, T!