07:00; Rolling over, in an empty bed, is less satisfying than my accomodations of the past fourteen days. Then again, ‘Alone’ trumps ‘The Deadly Night Shade, with a CandleStick, under the duvet’ significantly.
07:10; First, my codpiece-complimentary Wonderbriefs. Well, of course I had the ‘Teleport’ up & running before Paradigm & The Deadly Light Shade arrived. Shipped, with all the other BOREs, I prepared.
07:20; Second, my white silk shirt, spun by Paradigm. Just as I would never have willingly leapt from the Eiffel Tower, if I could not currently fly, I would not birthed such secrets to those two, without an ‘out’.
07:30; Third, my dutifully dark Shade-made trousers. I thoroughly admit I would never have had time to thumb the the teleport’s trigger, or even activate the friction shields. Hence, I set it to thought-activated.
07:40; Fourth, my slim-&-secure coat: collaborative. Thought-activation, barely controlled when they came so close to molesting my person, was a once off, a courtesy to them. Proximity-alarm from now on.
07:50; Fifth, my stockings, shoes, gloves, bow-tie; immaculate black. Informed Open, beforehand. She called me ‘hero’, again. Given that her heroes were on a brink of murder last night: almost a compliment.
08:00; Sixth, my mind-reading hat, BORE-filled cane & opera cape soaked in transitive gas. E tried to kill Paradigm & The Shade: mercy! I gave them what they always wanted: rage! I put the ‘live’, in ‘evil’!!!
08:10; It is good to know I am still sufficiently bad by my own standards. Exiting, I step over the still unconscious man who, last night, my invisibility aiding in acquiring acommodations, I carefully cold cocked.
08:20; The swelling on his head has come down quite nicely, even if I say so myself. Using the small alcohol bottles in his mini-bar, I salved his contusion. Running up a magnificent bill, I salved my conscience.
08:30; In the end, I do the charitable thing. Going down the hall, I get yet-more ice for his injuries. Then I strip him naked, dump him in the ensuite bathtub filled with ice & start making above-kidney incisions.
08:40; Strew local prostitute flyers around the room, culled from a nearby telephone booth, then write ‘You have just had both your kidneys removed. Call 999 if you want to live.’ on a mirror, in free lipsticks.
08:50; Exiting, with ‘DND’ on the door, DNR on his lipstick note, organ-filled ice bucket & invisibility on high, I feel a lovely warm feeling inside I associate with suddenly having a seat reserved for me, in hell.
09:00; I call an ambulance. Meet them outside the hotel, hand them the kidneys & tell them they are to be priority-rushed, to a little girl in hospital; The daughter of he upstairs, who wouldn’t give her even one.
09:30; At what hotel did these events occur? What London hotel would countenance the outright molestation & devious exploitation of their guests? What hotel do I target in such a manner? A major one.
10:00; Arriving at Agnate Club’s lunch, I line up for salivating servings of greasy pudding, blood sausage & spotted dick. While French cuisine is an epicure’s dream, sometimes a stomach needs to be re-lined.
11:00; I summon Jefferies: effeminate gentleman’s gentleman of the house. After reserving one upper room in the club for the night, I request a copy of The Times. Tenting it over my head, I descend into doze.
11:10; Around me, the sound of the most refined gentlemen’s club in London waft down. Like expensive oils these men have been distilled at the heights of the social evaporation tower; not an intellectual one.
11:20; Reading Room: Behind, Doctor of Economics Tyr ‘Shilling’ Trondheim armwrestles the monetary-minded Signor Zorro ‘Lisbon’ Casaubon over the EU’s ‘single currency’. My money is on the spaniard.
11:30; By the fire: St. James-John ‘Fission’ McKellan and Christov-Stewart ‘Cold’ Lee, mortal enemies to the core, take turns in a nostalgic retelling of their most epic battle ‘The Massacre of the Moon-Men’.
11:40; War tapestry: Emeritus Reginald ‘Doffed-Cap’ Clinton & Regius Zeck ‘Bent-Knee’ Nichtvalt, bent over papers, each trying to prove to the other that the number 0 either doesn’t exist or is omnipresent.
11:50; Crossed-swords: Dulcet ‘Conga!’ Ventrimigilia is giving an over-loud lecture on his recent researches in the Amazon basin. Ends badly for him when the anaconda escapes. His muffled speech is better.
12:00; Sacred silence. The Agnate Club; female-free (outside of Club-Code-mandated 4pm-5pm visiting hours, for female relatives, over 30, with staff chaperone, in a back Parlour) since suffragette success.
12:10; It isn’t the company of women that aggravates me, it is the company of men in the company of women. Brash, stupid, dysfunctionally-erectile & very gullible; their one, single, greatly redeeming feature!
12:20; Time to tend inheritance scams, marriage bluffs & paternity prevarications set in motion, before my leaving Whitby, now nearing a most ripe fruition. Time to put ‘lucre’ (cash, you pleb) back in ‘cruel’!!!
12:30; I summon Jefferies again. I ask, in the single most discreet fashion I know, which of my lordly fellows Jefferies might think is being rooked through the nose for his inheritance, by an intrepid gold digger.
12:40; True, this probably seems impossible. Oh, not the gold digger part, I personally know my peers are putzes. But that ‘a gentleman’s gentleman’ such as Jefferies should be so indiscreet as to speak of it!?
12:50; But Jefferies will speak of such, due 2 considerable reasons. Firstly, I know J despises such callous marital deceits. Second, I know J is no gentleman’s gentleman. Gentle, yes, but gentially, J is no man.
13:00; I implanted her pencil-moustache myself, at the Swiss Gesund Heights Surgery & Spa Treatment Resort. Kept pristine, rare among my commissioned medical works, I would cite it if t’were not secret.
13:10; Jefferies: a butler’s daughter, concealed by her father from society at large & a roving eye of the son of the master of Jefferies Snr in specific. Commendable; Bad prostitutes are cheap. Good staff: rare.
13:20; The randy young master (Geoffrey Shankhorn OBE) did eventually find out about the girl & her life beneath stairs. Inflamed with an urge to bed her, he squired her about town, then took her abroad …
13:30; … to Switzerland where he eventually proposed to her. On the, to him, apparently non sequiteur necessity of Jefferies Jnr. receiving breast implants, a little facial surgery, tummy tucks, bleached teeth …
13:40; … at which point the enamel on her enamourment with Shankhorn eroded. Also, she met me. Compelled to the cosmetic surgery spa I worked at that year, J & I hatched an alternate scheme of profit.
13:50; I implanted J with a moustache, performed a breast reduction & stuffed J’s codpiece, in the practiced fashion. I thoroughly tutored her in maleness, doctored her legal papers & paid for her flight home.
14:00; I told Shankorn that his fiancee, agreeing to all operations, in expensive surgery/recovery for a year. He was not to visit or spoil the surprise. One year later: told Shankhorn his bride escaped. Surprise!
14:10; Shankhorn set off after a fictional woman with the face of his dreams, while the woman wearing the face he spurned, had pretended to be her father’s unheard of son, rising in servitor notoriety at home.
14:20; J retains a soft spot for these fuddy-duddies (intends to marry the first one who meets her understandably-high criteria) & still has a wrathful ire towards deceitful suitors. & so: J tells whom is gold-dug.
14:30; I shored up a significant sum of silver pieces from the Shankhorn deception. My new plan involves far more money, far more moving pieces, a far richer mark &, most unprecedented, a minion for moi.
14:40; After consulting with Cupbearer Cadre (secret servant society who have to write off on such a serious disclosure & even suggest candidates) Jefferies tells: My targeted peers *shudder* in the peerage:
14:50; ‘… Vivian Smith-Smythe-Smith: He is in the Grenadier Guards & can count up to four …’
15:00; ‘… Simon ‘Zinc Trumpet’ Harris: An old Etonian & getting married to a very attractive table lamp …’
15:10; ‘… Nigel ‘Incubator’ Jones: His best friend is a tree & in his spare time he is a stock broker …’
15:20; ‘… Gervais Brooke-Hamster: In the wine trade & his father uses him as a waste paper basket …’
15:30; ‘… Oliver St John Mollusc: Another old Etonian. His father was a cabinet minister & his mother won the derby …’
15:40; … *sigh* These upper class twits are being had by greedy debutantes, avarice-eyed chambermaids &, in one case, pieces of furniture. There is no helping them, except for: sterilisation &/or sandpaper.
15:50; I need someone with rudiments of intelligence, sufficient fortune to be a target, yet insufficient ready funds to be someone’s endgame. I need the much superior woman behind the mediocre man- Aha!!!
16:00; Sir Cyril Pankhurst ‘Deviant-Cable’ Gavotte-Smithington! *gasp* Fine, old English name. Sister & mother were Miss Mayfair 1990: they are 1 & the same. Eats attic insulation like candyfloss. Banker.
16:10; A veritable Einstein, alongside his fellows (& I thank my German mad scientist genes that I am not one of those fellows) he currently courts a good lady con artist, Mary-Lou Freebush Shauchenfreude.
16:20; Theoretically, arranging a meeting might be fraught with complexity & subterfuge. Instead, I have donned a white jacket, acted as the couple’s chaperone back parlour teatime and disposed of Sir Cyril.
16:30; Disposed is complimentary. Informed him his automobile (BMW, ‘Sunset Silver’ shade, ‘MYOTHERCAR’ license plate) was missed, from outside the club. Upon closer inspection: he took a taxi here.
16:40; Once Cyril is gone, I state my position; I cannot stand by and watch such a sensitive individual be so maligned. Con artists like herself shouldn’t have to suffer stupidity for a mere 100 thousand, sterling.
16:50; Via entailments & pre-nuptials that is the most Cyril can give ‘Miss Mary-Lou’ should they divorce. Otherwise … she would have to stayed married to Cyril. Forever, & bear his kids; in the pre-nuptial.
17:00; Thanks to papers, provided by Cupbearer Cadre, I categorically convinced her of the meagre amount in her hunting haul. Less than she thought, but ‘Mary-Lou’ considers continuing. I make an offer …
17:30; As I return the papers of compulsion, Jefferies is delighted that the gold-digger has been disposed of so summarily. I smile; the poacher may be forgotten but she is not gone. She is, in fact, in my room.
18:00; Invisibility: convenient; Shuttling ‘Mary’ upstairs: useful. Using the club photo-copier on Cyril’s papers (inheritance fraud possibility): life saver. Finding ‘Mary’ searching my room, on my return: priceless.
18:10; There isn’t anything to steal, yet. She is good, just not invisiblity-abled. My offer: not 100 thousand pounds, after a statutory period of 5 years. Instead, a one-year con, her end being 10 million sterling.
18:20; The mark is one Baron Genghis ‘Brute-Caesar’ Napoleon-Totemborg, aka Doctor Sprungfeld ‘Lightning-Rod’ Bach-Stabbington! When I call him the ‘Butcher of Ompsk’, ‘Mary-Lou’ begins to pale …
18:30; Clue; the names: ‘Baron Genghis ‘Brute-Caesar’ Napoleon-Totemborg’? ‘Doctor Sprungfeld ‘Lightning-Rod’ Bach-Stabbington’? Why, the man is fundamentally delusional! ‘Mary’ likes this no better …
18:40; She is even less enthused when she learns that the baronetage, carried over from ‘Genghis’ mother, is a pittance. Bloody, mad & poor. What profit, she cries, making a move for the door. Oh very true.
18:50; However: ‘Genghis’ father developed a magnetic encoding strip, used by all major credit card brands. Both his parents being dead, ‘Genghis’ is worth over thirty million in an ever-growing pool-of-cash.
19:00; That gets her hand off the doorknob. As for a ‘delusional nature’, it isn’t violent. Oh, ‘Genghis’ wishes to be, but ‘Baron Leonard Khopf’, ‘Genghis’ true name, could not harm the tiniest of flies if he tried.
19:10; That gets her to turn about. ‘Genghis’ dreams of supervillainy, ruling all of Germany’s Bad Hersfeld region, holding the European Union at ‘volcano-gunpoint’. Also: Leonard is deathly afraid of the dark.
19:20; That gets her sit down again. ‘Genghis’ wants legions of soldier-drones, wielding laser-blades & wearing infra-red goggles, to attack on his order. Also: Leonard has been dumped, by imaginary friends.
19:30; Finally, she speaks, again. ‘How do you know I can take him for 10 million in a year?’, she asks. Simple: Over the past 5 years, between inception & this instant, I took ‘Genghis’ for 10 million, already.
19:40; I came across the fellow while working for SturmGeiger, an atomic madman who had intentions of detonating a specialised type of high-atmo nuclear bomb, that would turn acid rain into nuclear fallout.
19:50; While SturmGeiger was a ‘real’ supervillain (tried to kill millions, failed & achieved no aims) not all who claimed his rivalry were real villains. ‘Genghis’ challenged a bio-metallic SG, in ‘manful combat’ …
20:00; Setting ‘Genghis’ arms & wiring his jaw shut, I ran fingerprint & DNA. A credit check in the millions, I respectfully ushered Leonard out, just before the heroic Doppel Gang stormed ‘The SturmCloud’.
20:10; The mathematics of the aftermath were simple; The Doppel Gang, ‘real’ heroes (propping up a status quo, maintainers instead of victors & no aim to speak of) defeated SG & won me ‘Genghis’ loyalty.
20:20; Utterly delusional, incontinently wealthy, Leonard’s period of rest & recuperation saw the renovation of the entire Castle Totemborg. Fiscal cost: 20 thousand euros. Leonard cost: 5 million, in sterling…
20:30; Quite the markup, for consultancy, yes, but I knew what he wanted, even better than Leonard did. He had snuck into a total of one supervillain hideouts. I have worked in hundreds. I know the ‘decor’.
20:40; Massive electrical arrays, with lightning leaping from pylon to pylon. Banks of computer controls, telemetry data scrolling on every screen. Pungi-spike pit underneath every trapdoor. Lots of trapdoors.
20:50; It fulfilled 2 loves: making obscene amounts of money & presiding over failed fiction; that television science fiction space-serial, being cancelled saved the especial commission of all that false equipment.
21:00; Berlin television’s ‘sci-fi’ ‘StrangSchiff’ passing pilot production prior to cancellation. Then: pyrotechnic effects, declassified European Space Program radio-receiver dishes & an army surplus helicopter.
21:10; Henchmen: ‘personal force of trained combat personnel’: £10,000 a week. Instead, at minimum wage, I hired out-of-work actors for lieutenants & mobs of 3rd-level students as grunts. Great uniforms.
21:20; A massive turnover in ‘technicians’ & ‘soldiers’ (students) that ‘Genghis’ ‘kills’ (laser pens) for ‘idiocy’ is avoided: With face-hiding helmets & fake moustaches, Engineer Rilke becomes Sergeant Trenke.
21:30; Victims: Outside his own henchstaff ‘Genghis’ primary victims are townsfolk ‘abducted’ for a purpose of ‘experimentation’. A few prosthetic gills or an oversized insect-head mask usually suffices for ‘G’.
21:40; Secondary victims are the EU, the UN & the AMA. Appearing on a wall wide bevy of televisions, these middle-aged actors, resembling Leonard’s parents on purpose, grovel for mercy on their knees.
21:50; Archnemeses: Original fictional crusaders; Bloodgeon, Fire Escape & Jack Boot. Ersatz knockoffs of ‘real’ heroes; Dark Forest, Tef-Lon & Judgement Dei. All: diving retired stuntmen & ex-wrestlers.
22:00; Also: a local powered person slumming for money, or an old hero from Leonard’s youth whose star has since faded, will act the part. So desperate for cash, I could have paid them a pittance. So I did.
22:10; Siphoning off extraordinary amounts, but always accounted against the cost of real-life counterparts to the faux machines, men or menaces. Native canniness of the insane, ‘Genghis’ expects a congruity.
22:20; Therefore, I profile ‘Genghis’ as ready for a wife. He is not ready emotionally, mentally, personally or physically – only financially. He will kill himself in a fake deathtrap one day; I need that money now.
22:30; Also: G seems to want a girl. Writers compose ‘Genghis’ adventures; I read & pre-approve them, every half-year. Analysis shows his impromptu doom-speech waxes lyrical on ‘female servitude’ lately.
22:40; ‘Genghis’ dream women; scant-clad in gauzy negligees, silver-catsuited as sexbots or oddly attired control-collared aliens. Not fearful for such girls, fearful they’d be clever; won’t cut me in on the take.
22:50; Hence: ‘Mary’. She asks about her role. There is a pick of several. I thumb through the femme fatale reports the writers drew up. Demon sorceress … Insectile dryad … malevolent gardener-botanist …
23:00; The con artiste is tall, imperious, beneath ‘Mary’s’ persona; Dark hair/eyes, proud stance & martial skill: Warrioress, Omegan Deathveil, of Charn, Space-Amazon of Xenadu Rank, ‘Butcher of Kpmo’!
23:10; Costume: electric-blue one-piece bathing suit, diamante embroidered. Sparkly silver gloves & platform boots. Hair pulled back & up, curled with silver ribbons & rings. Eyeshadow/lipstick: blue-silver.
23:20; In an ‘updated tinfoil-chainmail space-bikini’ (writer-described), ‘Omegan Deathveil’ shall, (via effects team), land on Earth, search for its great villain, beating up pretenders as she goes (via stunt team).
23:30; Atlas has released some 1st-gen metabolic-enhancer patches (as opposed to the military’s 5th gen & Atlas’ girlfiriend’s 12th gen tech). A patch on her back & she’ll juggle men with the greatest of ease.
23:40; A few faked television reports of this & ‘Genghis’ will be chomping at the bit to meet, greet & marry her. At which point, ‘Omegan’ will ‘find’ him & acclaim him Earth’s evilest villain & her lord, forever.
23:50; Swift marriage, swifter seizure of the marital assets. My plan: ‘Omegan’ will convince ‘Genghis’ to leave all in her name, should the worst happen, then arrange to have the worst happen: death or prison.
00:00; 10 million in a year. If dissatisfied, she can return to her current con; can even tell Cyril ‘Mary’ is going to pray in isolation upon their marriage in an Irish convent for 12 months. What is her final verdict?