The minions by the door ducked. “I’ve heard unmatched socks are all the fashion rage, your dreadfulness,” one of them suggested.
“And you could just wear your pajama pants to work,” the other one said, dodging a pair of pants.
“Next you’ll be telling me dirty underwear is trendy.” The Dreaded Author aimed, fired, and made two direct hits with a couple pairs of aforementioned clothing items.
The head transportation minion leaned into the doorway. “It’s time to go, your awfulness! We must fine the new evil lair!”
“I don’t know what’s so exciting about that,” muttered the Dreaded One. “I just moved into this parental basement four months ago.” Seizing the prize of clean underwear and two almost matching socks, the Dreaded one slammed the door on the minions.
Forty-five minutes later found the Dreaded One looking over a shabby apartment.
“As you can see, this tower apartment offers an airy living room and a great view of the park.” The rental agency minion swept a clawed hand grandly across the room.
The Dreaded One crossed her arms and glared a fiery red glare across the room. “And the bedrooms are the size of postage stamps. Next!”
“Well…” The minion waved his hand, sending them teleporting to the next one. “What about this one? It’s dark and dank, just like an evil lair should be.”
The Dreaded One creaked down the stairs to eye the half-basement bedrooms. “It’s the prisoners, not the Dark Lord who live in a dungeon! Next!”
Poof! “This one is newly renovated. Three bedrooms, huge living room, two car garage–”
“What’s that?” The Dreaded One eyed the slightly roach-shaped objects at the bottom of the toilet.
The minion flushed it. “Oh, I guess the bugs keep getting in when I keep the door open… showing this house far too much…”
The Dreaded One marched back to the kitchen, unimpressed. She peered in the sink, opened, the cupboards… nothing. Then she opened the fridge. A cockroach waved its antenna at her, slowly, probably since he was chilled. “I don’t think so!”
Many apartments later, the Dreaded One was losing her patience. “No upstairs garrets with no ventilation or air conditioning, no houses the size of a pickle jar, no kitchen linoleum that has more wrinkles than a grandmother, and no basement should smell better than the rest of the house!” The Dreaded One roared, flexing her claws.
“Fine fine.” The rental agency minion held up his hands. “You’ll just love this one!”
The Dreaded One sniffed suspiciously. “Doesn’t it smell rather like smoke?”
“Oh, no! These older apartments just smell a bit musty.”
The Dreaded One sniffed again. “Definitely smoke.”
“That’s impossible. We–”
The Dreaded One jabbed a claw and muttered a spell. With a scream, the minion went up in flames. “Told you it was smoke.” The Dreaded One sauntered out of the apartment to the waiting hoard. “Forget agencies. We’ll pick the next best castle we see and conquer it! Muahahahaha!”
The minions scrambled after her. “Um, Your Evilness, shouldn’t we pack first?”
“Or what about the laundry?”
“Did you forget all the weapons are carefully packed up in storage?”
“We simply cannot attack until we’re moved into a new Evil Lair, Your Awfulness,” instead the Second-in-Command Minion. “It just isn’t done.”
“Fine,” the Dreaded One snarled, feeling distinctly trapped and hating moving with a passion. ” Where was that one with the view of the apartment getto out the window on one side and the parking lot on the other? We can set fire to things while we move. That should improve the view.”
Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long. The list of backlogged character in need of torture was painfully long.