#da fuck they doin ova der my god

[orfanmakr]

[mouser26]

An oldie but a goodie

So in light of realizing I really don’t have a lot of Mags stories on here I decided to go dig through my old DA account and see if anything survived since I wasn’t the best at cross posting from Y!...and now I feel old cause Y! went down in 2016 and now is back apparently....so yeah  ANYWAYS!!!! Enjoy a gently edited (oh god this was posted how long with those errors?!) first time I and Foxy ever collabed from Nov 2008 aka the First time Mags and Cassius met The Barcrawl ( and to any new readers.....yeah Cassius just talks like that 

Cassius hated Canadian pubs. They insisted on calling them bars, and they never had the right food. How was a guy supposed to enjoy his beer without a proper accompaniment? And why had the yellow insisted on meeting here?

“Oy! You in the purple!” a strident woman’s voice rang out. “Your people tried to blow up my brother!”

“Dat’s righ’,” Cassius rumbled, sipping his beer, “but not me pers’nally. I doan do good wit splosives.”

“Well, I don’t see anyone else here,” she retorted. “Maybe I ought to take a down payment in lumps out of you!”

“I warns yer, lady,” Cassius growled. “I’s tougher dan I looks.”

“You don’t look so tough to me!” Magenta challenged.

“Wow, mouffy AN’ blind,” Cassius rumbled. “You got it bad, sister.”

Magenta’s face grew rosy to where it matched her hat and vest. Without another word, she picked up an unoccupied barstool and brought it down on Cassius’s head.

Cassius didn’t flinch; he took his beer bottle and smashed Magenta across the face, sending her soaring towards the leisure section of the bar.

She landed in the midst of a game of eight ball, and, cursing, picked up the cue stick underneath her. She stood up in the middle of the table and kicked the three and the fifteen balls at Cassius’s chest. With one fluid move, she jumped from the billiard table to the bar and pivoted, breaking the cue across Cassius’s face.

Cassius picked himself up off of the floor. Seeing Magenta aim a kick at his face, he seized the leg she was standing on and hurled her bodily into the plate glass window at the bar’s façade.

He grabbed another bottle and waited; she’d be back. One of the patrons with more alcohol than brains approached Cassius, who was picking shards of glass out of his knuckles.

“How dare you hit that lady!” He accused. “That’s not very nice at all.”

“Neither is she,” Cassius growled, “an she hit ferst. I jes hit ‘er back.”

He saw Magenta coming, and he braced for the impact. Outside, she’d landed next to a ‘Valet Parking’ sign for the restaurant next door, and she brought it with her. It caught him squarely in the side, breaking three ribs.

He grunted, and snapped the sign in half.

The patron turned to Magenta who said, “Don’t interfere!” and punched him.

Cassius grabbed the patron’s leg, Magenta grabbed his arm, and together they threw him bodily over the bar. He took out the shelf of high-end liquor and the mirror, and lay groaning behind the bar. Most of the patrons had fled; the bartender was nowhere to be seen.

“What a waste,” Cassius mumbled. “Lookit all dat good booze fallin’ on der floor.”

Magenta straightened her neck with an audible crack. “Not bad, Twinkle-toes. You ARE tougher than you look!”

“An’ yer no sloch eider,” Cassius conceded, drinking rum from a bottle with the top broken off. He offered her the bottle, and she took a long drink.

Idly, Cassius took a long splinter out from her violet hair. “Dat woulda hurt when you put yer hat back on.”

Cassius dusted the glass shards off of his purple vest. “Okay, yer smashed der stool on me head, n' I walloped yer wit der beer bottle, den you broke der poolcue 'cros m' teef, n' I sent you troo der window,” he counted out on his fingers. “Split der damage downna middle?"

“You forgot the cracked ribs, the pool table, and the guy we both sent into the bar display,” she corrected, “Otherwise it all sounds fair.”

Cassius nodded and took out his wallet. He counted several large bills and placed them under the bar counter, weighing them down with the bartender’s shotgun. “He wuz askin' fer it, callin yer a lady 'n sayin I ourtn't smack yer,” 

“An’ doan worry 'bout der ribs. I've broke dese tings more times'n I cn count. He should have ter pay fer der mirror doh, on accoun' o' his head doin' der breakin'." Cassius spat out a gob of blood. “Can’ stann innerlopers.”

Magenta snorted. “I smacked you first, you were fair ta shmack me back.” She felt her mouth, where her lower lip was already starting to match her hair. “Shon ova bish! I'm shwelling!” She clapped Cassius on the back. “Good job! Thas shom right hook ya got there.”

“I’d box, but der’s no one big enough to fight,” Cassius said, apologetically. “I'd buy yer a roun', but der bar appears to be desert'd. I know 'n all night biker bar. No place fer a lady, but yer orter be okay. I wanna see 'f yer cn drink's well as yer fight. Say, do yer like karaoke?”

“Did weh not jusht a'tablish I aint no god damn lady?” Magenta demanded. “And fer crooning a tune even if i did like it the lishener ushlly don't. LESH GO! Wait a minute, thish biker bar doesh karaoke?”

“Not yet,” Cassius rumbled. “But dey will.”

*~*~*

Hours and many many MANY drinks later Cassius and Magenta staggered tipsily down the street. “I can' bleev dat guy hekkled us berfore we got troo der first vers,” Cassius growled. “Good ting I hit him inna head wif dat hurled bottle.”

Magenta glared at him. “YOU hit him with a thrown bottle? I beg to differ. I threw that bottle, shir.”

“I hit ‘im inna head,” Cassius corrected. “YOU hit ‘im inna crosh.”

“Good point,” Magenta conceded. “ But I WARNED you I don't shing! And can you believe that whore that shaid my hair was shtupid? I mean what the fuck! She had a fucking hole in her ear the shize of a 28 gauge shell with a fucking ANKER in her lip! I have violet hair an I'm weird?!”

Cassius smirked. “I like yer hair. Mash's m' suit. An, I don' sing eider, but we got's der harm'ny down pat. Don' worry 'bout dat chick. When she wakes up wid der stishes inner forhed she'll know who's shtupid lookin'.”

Magenta howled with laugher. “DAMN SHTRAIGHT! By the by thanksh for docking her boy toy. Elsh I wouldn't have been able to shlash her sho good.”

Cassius shrugged. “Is no problem. Yer good wit dat swishblade!”

Magenta smiled. “Shtill, you are a-shom.” She tried to pat Cassius on the back, but missed the mark by a few feet.

Cassius grinned an evil smile. “He made it easy. Whenever I sees a guy wif nipple clamps anna chain froo 'em, I finks 'Dat's jes beggin t' be yanked.' I din' know he hadda Prince Albert hooked to it too, but dat's his prerorg...perogga..”

“Prerogative?” Magenta supplied

“Dat’s der bunny!” Cassius agreed.

Mags giggled. “Bunny...Shtupid fashin shatement sho was ashkin' for it! Even I don't shcream that fucking girly.”

“Der’s lotsa ways a guy cn look tough,” Cassius rumbled thoughtfully. “Dat’s gotta be one o’ der dumbest I seen, an’ dat’s sayin’ sumtin’.”

“You know,” she mused. “For a Purple, you’re not half bad.”

“An’ you’re pretty decent fer a Red girl, too,” Cassius said.

Magenta bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean? Just because I’m a girl means I can’t pull my weight? Or do you have something against Reds?”

“Nuttin’ gainst eider,” Cassius amended. “I jes tink I’m bedder at some a’ dis dan you.”

“Put your money where your mouth ish,” Mags retorted. “I’ve got a hundred bucksh that says I can do anything you can.”

“Alrigh’,” Cassius said, smirking. “Der blacks ‘ave a buildin’ roun’ here, righ’?”

“They do,” Magenta agreed, slowly. “It’s an office they ush when they’re trying to get at the White HQ, which is kinda all the time anymore.”

“Righ’,” Cassius said. He smiled and rubbed his hands together. “We gots a wager. Whoever gess der potted plant outta Black’s office is der better spy. Yer caught, ya lose. Deal?” He held out his enormous hand.

“Deal!” Mags agreed, shaking his hand.

“In der innerests of fairness,” Cassius rumbled, “We go dere inna same cab.”

“One question: what happensh if we Both get caught?”

“Den we bofe lose,” Cassius replied. “An’ we’re ebenly mashed as Spies. We calls it a draw.”

*~*~*

Rusty raised an eyebrow as he looked at the unknown number flashing on his phone. It was a sealed number though so it has to be someone familiar he reasoned as he answered, "Resident robo speaking."

“Rusty?” Mags asked. “It’s me. I need a pick-up at…WHAT PRECINCT IS THIS?...precinct 18, downtown… wait, WHICH DOWNTOWN? ….I’M FROM GATINEAU THAT’S WHY!…Ottawa. Can you bring bail money for…I see ten, but only four of them are ours.”

“Remin’ me,” Cassius groaned, “How did we end up here?”

“Well after we caught you two bickering over the theft of a potted plant,” Seventy-two started, “Brother and I convinced you two that dancing would be as much fun as Karaoke. So, we went downtown to the hippest club and somehow managed to get in.”

“I think the big guy bribed the bouncer,” Twenty-seven mused. “But regardless of how, we got in. The hottest dance crew in town was on the floor, they danced in front of us,”

“We got challenged,” Seventy-two continued. “I told the big guy and the woman. They looked at each other,”

“And together, they punched out the front man,” finished Twenty-seven. “Then, they proceeded to mop the floor with the rest of the crew.”

“Hey,” Mags retorted, “if they didn’t want to get beat up, they shouldn’t have thrown down in the first place. Besides it was a fair fight: two of us, eight of them.”

“That was bad enough,” Seventy-two said, “but did you two have to take on the whole SWAT team?”

“Dey said her hair was funny,” Cassius mumbled. “I had to knock dose tree out, odderwise we’d be in for longer. Smackin’ a cop is a shorter sen’ance dan rippin’ ‘is goolies off via his nosdril.”

“I would have done nothing of the sort,” sniffed Magenta.

“Then why did you threaten to do just that?” Seventy-two countered. “Every man in the club winced in sympathy pain.”

“Sides, der cops asked us nicely to come along,” Cassius said. “If dey’s willin’ to be polite abou’ it, I figger we might as well come ‘long peaceably.”

“They hit you with three tear gas grenades and tazered you at least six times,” protested Twenty-seven. “That’s what you call polite?”

“Dey dint use der guns or battans,” Cassius said. “Dose tazers were nice; dey tickled. Once Rusty gets ‘ere, I tink I need breakfast. Who wants homme, ommer..”

“Omelets?” Magenta suggested

“Dat’s der bunny!” Cassius agreed.

“I don’t know where you’ll put them,” Mags said. “Over the course of the night, you drank eight beers, fourteen assorted shots, a bottle of rum and a coke, and a centerpiece bud vase with a rose in it.”

“Tought dat one tasted a bit torny,” Cassius rumbled. “An’ yer one ter talk. You matched me on alla dat.”

“Couldn’t have you show me up, could I!” she countered. “And you’re right, it DID taste thorny!”

“MAGS!” Rusty finally yelled, interupting the four-way recounting of what sounded like a wild night.

He could picture Magenta staring at the receiver in her hand a moment before remembering who was on the line, “Hey Rusty.”

"... You do know I record all my calls, right?"

"...Fuck."

Rusty managed to hold in a chuckle, “Do we need an armored car or can I just pick you up?"

"Uh... I got two blacks and a purple...what do you think?

"... Fuck, I'm just going to get the nice company car to do this kind of crap. Google maps says I'll be there in about Forty-five minutes. Are you armed? Wait, don't answer that. ... WHAT are you armed with?"

"I left my babies at home. I HAD A SWITCHBLADE BUT THEY TOOK IT!"

“Actually you lost it when that one dancer kicked your hand,” Twenty-seven chirped.

“And his girlfriend tried to bite your ear off,” Seventy-two added

“Oh yeah…”

“Probably for the best...” Rusty muttered quietly. "Well, I'll get your spare from your desk as a security blanket of death. How's that? Anything else I should know about? What are the sobriety levels?"

"Hang on let me check… How sober are you bitches?!"

"Hung-over and hungry!”

“Dat depends,” Cassius mumbled. “Did I jes step on m’own fingers?”

“No sir,” an unknown voice, Rust assumed another prisoner cried. “You’re standing on mine.”

“Den nuttin’ a Bloody Mary woan fix,” Cassius said. “Or are yer a scewdriver woman?”

“I’m a Sonic Screwdriver woman, thanks to my darling partner. Electrolytes over acid. There’s your answer,” she said into the phone. 

"... I'll have Laurie call me en route to see what's open. On my way."

“Thanks Rusty!”

“Den les’ get outta here,” Cassius picked up the groaning twins by the back of their belts. “I got der lightweights. C’n you get der door?”

“Yep. Hey Rust, we’ll be outside. Trust me, you can’t miss us.” She hung up the jail cell’s pay phone.

“Let’s go”

“Damn!” Cassius smacked his forehead with the heel of his right hand, eliciting a groan from twenty-seven.

“What’s wrong?” Magenta asked, picking the jail cell lock.

“I wuz gonna meet a Yellow at der bar we net at.”

“Really?” Magenta looked up from the lock. “I was supposed to meet a Yellow there too. Think the bastard set us up?”

“Hell of a coinkydink,” Cassius growled, shifting his hold so he had the twins under each arm safe and sound.

“Next time I’m thank the bitch before I shoot him,” Mags soothed as she finally devoted her attention to the lock, earning a laugh from the purple agent.