Okay so I was talking to a buddy of mine about a film Demon Hunter a glorious, Constantine flavored failure of a film starring my favorite villain actor, Billy Drago. The conversation went on that all film nun protagonists, at least in the B genre, are nubile hotbodies who are a single leering look away from sin. We both lamented that we were unlikely to see arse-kicking nun protagonist who looked more like Bea Arthur than Angelina Jolie.
Which meant that a new Toon was in the offing. Big Momma S is now punishing evil over on Virtue.
Brief Introduction.
Sister. I know that there is no official age limit on registration, but are you sure you want to do this? The perky brunette receptionist looked at the form dubiously. The old nun merely stared back at her; the nearly black eyes holding an implacable calm. A hand, large, gnarled and callused emerged from the habit. There was the unmistakable sound of steel on steel. Thee long, steel rulers emerged from the back of the nuns hand; their edges gleaming bright and sharp. The nun casually flicked her wrist, the rulers gouging three parallel grooves in the marble of the counter-top.
I take it that is a yes. The rulers vanished as quickly as they emerged and the nun tucked her hands back into the sleeves of her habit. The receptionist swallowed hard. Her position required her to deal with the heroic, the weird, the strange and the merely tacky; it was part and parcel of being on the front line of Paragon meta-human registration. This still rang bells. An eighty year old nun. A very big eighty year old nun.
The letters should be of the same height and even. The hand emerged from the habit again, this time clutching what could only be described as a regulation, nun-issued, steel ruler. The receptionist paled and ducked her head slightly. There is no excuse for poor penmanship my child.
Yes Maam The receptionist considered moving her chair back, but the aged nun had already demonstrated viper-quick speed; escape was futile. Good hand-writing skills were her only defense. I need your hero name please.
Big Momma S. The nun said calmly. I am the Mother Superior of Our Lady of Doing Gratuitously Violent Things to Them Wot Deserves Gratuitously Violent Things Done Unto Them. I have also served at Saint Defenestrations School for Closed Windows, Our Lady of the Sucking Chest Wound and Saint Crotchkickers Home For Knackered Lowlifes. And Lourdes.
Sign here please. The receptionist pushed the completed form to the nun. She took the proffered pen and signed with machine-perfect precision.
* * *
How much are penguins worth? The BurnJack leaned against the wall as he held court over his Hellion minions. Atlas Park had been good to him this morning, he had collected several purses; with accompanying jewelry and watches, and had sown a great deal of wonderful chaos. A nun would be the perfect thing to cap things off before lunch.
My son. The nun seemed largely unconcerned at being accosted by the towering, tattooed thug. Perhaps it was because she could meet his eyes without looking up. Perspective was a funny thing, she has seemed much smaller coming up the street. Still, the wrinkled features proclaimed her age, and everyone knew that the dangerous nuns were young hotbodies; not older, Bea Arthur types.
Sister! BurnJack played up the moment. I am a wretched evildoer. I steal, I rape, I pillage. I am a force of chaos released upon the world! Its better to burn out than to fade away!
Blessed are the evildoers. The nun raised a hand in benediction, For they shall receive a kingdom of pain.
BurnJack had been prepared for many things; his banter carefully practiced ahead of time; his repertoire of punishing martial arts moves polished with the precision of long practice, and his body toughened by the arcane rituals of the Hellions. So he could not readily explain why the next thing out of his mouth was a high pitched girlish scream. For Big Momma S, the explanation was apparent. She had grabbed Burnjack by the crotch and lifted, hauling the Hellion into the air and then slamming him down hard onto the pavement. Relinquishing her grip, she stomped a heavy, sensible shoe onto his throat, reducing his screams to a mewling, gagging noise.
Evil is second to nun; and I am that nun. The two remaining Hellions swallowed, watching Burnjack as he writhed helplessly on the ground. The one on the left made a break for it. Big Momma S drew a steel ruler from her habit and threw it expertly; the flashing steel embedding itself in the Hellions right kidney. He fell screaming to the pavement.
Nuns arent supposed to do that! The last Hellion went for his gun with a shaky hand. Love your enemies and all that garbage.
Forgive him lord. The nun made the same benediction, wickedly sharp rulers emerging from her hands. For he knows not what a can of whoop ass he has opened.
The Hellion considered his options. Running was out. Fighting was out. That left screaming like a school girl, praying and wetting himself. Just to be safe he chose all three.
Which meant that a new Toon was in the offing. Big Momma S is now punishing evil over on Virtue.
Brief Introduction.
Sister. I know that there is no official age limit on registration, but are you sure you want to do this? The perky brunette receptionist looked at the form dubiously. The old nun merely stared back at her; the nearly black eyes holding an implacable calm. A hand, large, gnarled and callused emerged from the habit. There was the unmistakable sound of steel on steel. Thee long, steel rulers emerged from the back of the nuns hand; their edges gleaming bright and sharp. The nun casually flicked her wrist, the rulers gouging three parallel grooves in the marble of the counter-top.
I take it that is a yes. The rulers vanished as quickly as they emerged and the nun tucked her hands back into the sleeves of her habit. The receptionist swallowed hard. Her position required her to deal with the heroic, the weird, the strange and the merely tacky; it was part and parcel of being on the front line of Paragon meta-human registration. This still rang bells. An eighty year old nun. A very big eighty year old nun.
The letters should be of the same height and even. The hand emerged from the habit again, this time clutching what could only be described as a regulation, nun-issued, steel ruler. The receptionist paled and ducked her head slightly. There is no excuse for poor penmanship my child.
Yes Maam The receptionist considered moving her chair back, but the aged nun had already demonstrated viper-quick speed; escape was futile. Good hand-writing skills were her only defense. I need your hero name please.
Big Momma S. The nun said calmly. I am the Mother Superior of Our Lady of Doing Gratuitously Violent Things to Them Wot Deserves Gratuitously Violent Things Done Unto Them. I have also served at Saint Defenestrations School for Closed Windows, Our Lady of the Sucking Chest Wound and Saint Crotchkickers Home For Knackered Lowlifes. And Lourdes.
Sign here please. The receptionist pushed the completed form to the nun. She took the proffered pen and signed with machine-perfect precision.
* * *
How much are penguins worth? The BurnJack leaned against the wall as he held court over his Hellion minions. Atlas Park had been good to him this morning, he had collected several purses; with accompanying jewelry and watches, and had sown a great deal of wonderful chaos. A nun would be the perfect thing to cap things off before lunch.
My son. The nun seemed largely unconcerned at being accosted by the towering, tattooed thug. Perhaps it was because she could meet his eyes without looking up. Perspective was a funny thing, she has seemed much smaller coming up the street. Still, the wrinkled features proclaimed her age, and everyone knew that the dangerous nuns were young hotbodies; not older, Bea Arthur types.
Sister! BurnJack played up the moment. I am a wretched evildoer. I steal, I rape, I pillage. I am a force of chaos released upon the world! Its better to burn out than to fade away!
Blessed are the evildoers. The nun raised a hand in benediction, For they shall receive a kingdom of pain.
BurnJack had been prepared for many things; his banter carefully practiced ahead of time; his repertoire of punishing martial arts moves polished with the precision of long practice, and his body toughened by the arcane rituals of the Hellions. So he could not readily explain why the next thing out of his mouth was a high pitched girlish scream. For Big Momma S, the explanation was apparent. She had grabbed Burnjack by the crotch and lifted, hauling the Hellion into the air and then slamming him down hard onto the pavement. Relinquishing her grip, she stomped a heavy, sensible shoe onto his throat, reducing his screams to a mewling, gagging noise.
Evil is second to nun; and I am that nun. The two remaining Hellions swallowed, watching Burnjack as he writhed helplessly on the ground. The one on the left made a break for it. Big Momma S drew a steel ruler from her habit and threw it expertly; the flashing steel embedding itself in the Hellions right kidney. He fell screaming to the pavement.
Nuns arent supposed to do that! The last Hellion went for his gun with a shaky hand. Love your enemies and all that garbage.
Forgive him lord. The nun made the same benediction, wickedly sharp rulers emerging from her hands. For he knows not what a can of whoop ass he has opened.
The Hellion considered his options. Running was out. Fighting was out. That left screaming like a school girl, praying and wetting himself. Just to be safe he chose all three.
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