Villain Vogue {{villains, minions, possibly a few heroes}}
Feb 6, 2023 21:55:41 GMT -5
Post by Ronno on Feb 6, 2023 21:55:41 GMT -5
OOC: I really thought Bowler Hat Guy was referencing the “McDonald’s is your kind of place” parodies (some variations of which of here)— took me waay too long to realize it was the Burger King jingle.
Also for reference: is Bowler Hat Dino-Guy a full sized triceratops (30 feet long, 9 feet at the shoulder) or is he more man-sized?
BIC:
“And yet, it obviously didn’t occur to you, or you wouldn’t be so fascinated with kitty’s tall tale here,” snickered Ronno. “Oh and if you want to take you seriously, you might want to get my name right, Darkwing The name’s Ronno. Not to mention…what do you mean ‘we’? I’m no villain.”
“I would, but my dame told me never to lie,” said Ronno, stamping a hoof and pricking his ears to show the brute he wasn’t afraid— hopefully the cat was dumb enough to fall for the bluff.
“Better a wet nose than a wet bottom, Quaky,” sneered Ronno. “Hah! What’s wrong flatfoot, can you think up a song? Or are you just sparing us your tone-deaf screeching? What talentless hacks! (Which…was just as well, because Ronno was still trying to think of a rhyme for “Against her will” and “Did I mention he succeeded”).
Ronno’s ears had trouble picking up that first part-- something about a hind, the female red deer? (And what term the female wapiti much preferred to get called instead of the more correct “cow elk).
The second part though, he heard— and returned with a smirk. “Jealous?”
Ronno flattened his ears and snorted. Having the scrawny smelly wer-man agree with him (and rattle off random nonsense) did not exactly help Ronno’s argument….
“I hate to break it to you, but Pussycat and Quakers here are both animals— and I seem to remember a cat on the cruise that smelled an enough lot like you,” said the buck in mock concern.
Hah! Yet again the cat-woman agreed with him— although his smile faded when she threw something at the were-man. Ronno half sprung into a carpiole, landing heavily and shivering at the scent of smoke.
“I—I agree Stinky here is annoying (not to mention he looks like he has Chronic Wasting Disease— seriously, nobody touch him) but to use firestick on him…” Thankfully the sight of the sickly were-man was enough to stop his awkward stammering.
Glass— that was the strange stuff humans were so fond of, treacherous things clear as air, hard as stone. Reluctantly, Ronno found himself agreeing with the skeletal wer-man.
Ronno gawked at the gigantic brute— was that a Synthetoceras tricornatus, one of those long-gone deer-like brutes (distant cousins of the distant chevrotains, themselves distance cousins of the deer and others in Pecora infraorder), with a spike over each eye and a forked antler on the nose of the males?
No, no, the scent was closer to a bird than anything else. Ronno thought he remembered that now: he, unlike Bambi, had better things to do than befriend the woodland critters, but even he had endured the prattle of birds, usually in the well-named Juvenile stage (when they had left the nest but were not old to build their own), relating their long-gone dinosaur relatives.
So! Assuming the underfed were-man was correct for once in his miserable life, it was an indeed a dinosaur. Most of the time the bird focused on their closer relative, the Saurischian, but occasionally they acknowledged their Ornithischia relatives. The only ones of even the slightest interest to Ronno were the Ceratopsia, the horned faced— like triceratops and torosaurus. Ronno wondered which one the scraggly wer-man really was.
Ronno’s hackles bristled, his tail raised to show off the warning signal that gave his species its name. Yeah, perhaps he shouldn’t have pressed the lion when his antlers were still in velvet— right now they were little more than fuzz-covered pulps. Still, he felt confident the other men here would take out any vicious hunter!
Besides, he still had his hooves— not as good as antlers (how did does go through life unarmed?!), but more than one predator had lost its life to those razor-sharp feet.
“Now now, I mean you no harm,” soothed Ronno in a voice slick as ice, as he wondered which bones of the scarred cat’s skull would make the best target— the weaker parietal bones on the sides would be best, but he bet a strong blow to the frontal bone between the eyes would do the trick.
“Besides…I? Oh I don’t deny I’m rough, but I’m no villain. No, I was talking of someone else…” said Ronno.
Snorting at the clumsy brute (although wondering if the fruit he knocked over was anything worth tasting), Ronno could not let this “Dino King” stand. (Besides, at least from what the Juvenile birds said, it was something called a Tyrannosaurus rex who was king).
“Please— I know someone much, much worse. A vicious brute of buck, too jealous and petty to let any even approach the Prince of the Forest… A bully, who pleads cowardice…but then harasses and tortures your true love. The infection, that poisoned the love between you and her. One who cannot fight fair, but instead relies on wicked and cruel tricks— snaps your tines and flings you down a bluff. One who breaks your love, forces her to bear his spawn against her will… Worst of all, one who succeeded…”
The sclera of Ronno’s eyes was gleaming now, ears flattened and hackles bristling, tossing his head and pawing the ground.
“I mean the worst villain ever— Prince Bambi!”
OOC: Yep, Ronno, like Barney Stinson, struggles with understanding who’s a hero and who’s a villain XD (he would totally agree with Barney Stinson’s best line: “Shut it Ralph Maccio! Why don't you go have a party with Luke Skywalker and Harry Potter and War Horse and all the other movie bad guys and stop ruining mine!” )
Also for reference: is Bowler Hat Dino-Guy a full sized triceratops (30 feet long, 9 feet at the shoulder) or is he more man-sized?
BIC:
"Yeah, well, we're all villains here, so lying goes with the territory. What's it to you, Rudolph?"
“And yet, it obviously didn’t occur to you, or you wouldn’t be so fascinated with kitty’s tall tale here,” snickered Ronno. “Oh and if you want to take you seriously, you might want to get my name right, Darkwing The name’s Ronno. Not to mention…what do you mean ‘we’? I’m no villain.”
"Are you talking to me? Surely you intended to rephrase that remark.”
“I would, but my dame told me never to lie,” said Ronno, stamping a hoof and pricking his ears to show the brute he wasn’t afraid— hopefully the cat was dumb enough to fall for the bluff.
"What is this, kindergarten? Get lost! Go peddle your little songs somewhere else. We have serious business here, and we don't need any forest friends poking their wet noses into it."
“Better a wet nose than a wet bottom, Quaky,” sneered Ronno. “Hah! What’s wrong flatfoot, can you think up a song? Or are you just sparing us your tone-deaf screeching? What talentless hacks! (Which…was just as well, because Ronno was still trying to think of a rhyme for “Against her will” and “Did I mention he succeeded”).
"Hindsight's cruel... Are you...singing?”
Ronno’s ears had trouble picking up that first part-- something about a hind, the female red deer? (And what term the female wapiti much preferred to get called instead of the more correct “cow elk).
The second part though, he heard— and returned with a smirk. “Jealous?”
"I like your song. Do you know this one? Hold the pickle, hold the lettuce, special orders don't upset us, all we ask is...um...something, something...la da dee da..."
Ronno flattened his ears and snorted. Having the scrawny smelly wer-man agree with him (and rattle off random nonsense) did not exactly help Ronno’s argument….
"We're not doing animal interviews!”
“I hate to break it to you, but Pussycat and Quakers here are both animals— and I seem to remember a cat on the cruise that smelled an enough lot like you,” said the buck in mock concern.
""Oh honestly! Will you shut it!"
Hah! Yet again the cat-woman agreed with him— although his smile faded when she threw something at the were-man. Ronno half sprung into a carpiole, landing heavily and shivering at the scent of smoke.
"Hey, no throwing stuff.”
“I—I agree Stinky here is annoying (not to mention he looks like he has Chronic Wasting Disease— seriously, nobody touch him) but to use firestick on him…” Thankfully the sight of the sickly were-man was enough to stop his awkward stammering.
"Don't you know better than to throw glass? You could cut somebody.
Ronno gawked at the gigantic brute— was that a Synthetoceras tricornatus, one of those long-gone deer-like brutes (distant cousins of the distant chevrotains, themselves distance cousins of the deer and others in Pecora infraorder), with a spike over each eye and a forked antler on the nose of the males?
No, no, the scent was closer to a bird than anything else. Ronno thought he remembered that now: he, unlike Bambi, had better things to do than befriend the woodland critters, but even he had endured the prattle of birds, usually in the well-named Juvenile stage (when they had left the nest but were not old to build their own), relating their long-gone dinosaur relatives.
"..a triceratops? I'm a dinosaur. Cool!"
So! Assuming the underfed were-man was correct for once in his miserable life, it was an indeed a dinosaur. Most of the time the bird focused on their closer relative, the Saurischian, but occasionally they acknowledged their Ornithischia relatives. The only ones of even the slightest interest to Ronno were the Ceratopsia, the horned faced— like triceratops and torosaurus. Ronno wondered which one the scraggly wer-man really was.
" '...someone rougher'? Like you? Let's see just how rough you are, meat."
Ronno’s hackles bristled, his tail raised to show off the warning signal that gave his species its name. Yeah, perhaps he shouldn’t have pressed the lion when his antlers were still in velvet— right now they were little more than fuzz-covered pulps. Still, he felt confident the other men here would take out any vicious hunter!
Besides, he still had his hooves— not as good as antlers (how did does go through life unarmed?!), but more than one predator had lost its life to those razor-sharp feet.
“Now now, I mean you no harm,” soothed Ronno in a voice slick as ice, as he wondered which bones of the scarred cat’s skull would make the best target— the weaker parietal bones on the sides would be best, but he bet a strong blow to the frontal bone between the eyes would do the trick.
“Besides…I? Oh I don’t deny I’m rough, but I’m no villain. No, I was talking of someone else…” said Ronno.
"Now who's the toughest villain around? Make way for the Dino King!"
“Please— I know someone much, much worse. A vicious brute of buck, too jealous and petty to let any even approach the Prince of the Forest… A bully, who pleads cowardice…but then harasses and tortures your true love. The infection, that poisoned the love between you and her. One who cannot fight fair, but instead relies on wicked and cruel tricks— snaps your tines and flings you down a bluff. One who breaks your love, forces her to bear his spawn against her will… Worst of all, one who succeeded…”
The sclera of Ronno’s eyes was gleaming now, ears flattened and hackles bristling, tossing his head and pawing the ground.
“I mean the worst villain ever— Prince Bambi!”
OOC: Yep, Ronno, like Barney Stinson, struggles with understanding who’s a hero and who’s a villain XD (he would totally agree with Barney Stinson’s best line: “Shut it Ralph Maccio! Why don't you go have a party with Luke Skywalker and Harry Potter and War Horse and all the other movie bad guys and stop ruining mine!” )