In a technologically virtuosic display, the cargo container unfurled into a stage backlit strongly enough to reduce the dramatically postured contents to corona-starred silhouettes. Wandblume doing an excellent fusion of Rod Serling & P.T. Barnum spun a truly impressive, if slightly over-baked, introduction monologue : “For your consideration, I give you the multiple melancholic missies of Goth Action Freedom Force Five!” The shadowy forms performed a flawless, sardonic rendition of a classic Supa Sentai team shot.
“First, no self-deprecating goth team would be complete without at least one creepy little girl ; to that end I introduce the scythe-swirling scamp, Pitchy!” “Forlorn Furious Flurry Flourish loaded.” Sichel Mond, Pitchy’s Einheit (device) intoned in its mechanistic Austrian accent as Pitchy wielded it in an adorably dour display of spinning superficial slashing surface. She ended the performance with a dramatic plastic floor rap of scythe butt triggering the release of a swirling cotton-candy coloured cloud of dry ice. This rapping, venting upon the chamber floor , the cue to continue the cavalcade, led Wandblume on to the second part of her swaggeringly staggering spiel : “Sharp little girls require big, blunt sisters!” Umbra, effortlessly dragging a classic ball & chain leg shackle, plowed through the candy fog creating vortices and eddies picked out in obsessive clarity by laser light timed perfectly to her carbon dioxide disrupting entrance. “Gloomy doesn’t mean puny when Umbra’s in play!” The aforementioned amazon snapped the manacle, hoisted and spun the supposedly massy orb, flail like, over her head. The grinning white skull superbly sketched across the surface of the sphere speedily slurred into a spinning slash of chalk before being expertly and precisely released to crash into a pop-up steel headstone target. The resulting reverberatory reaction rang a dour knell that sounded the third stanza of Shego’s saga as Umbra took up a muscularly sullen pose next to Pitchy. “The bell tolls but not for the dead.” Shego intoned almost solemnly : that micro-beam, her perpetual fractal smirk, twitched her stagy glower. A baroque coffin rose up through the low lying remnants of Pitchy’s mist.
“This is the undeath knell, the irreligious return of...” The coffin, now a vertical disquieting jet monolith, opened on oiled hinges to reveal a desiccated plugsuited form that, before their very eyes returned to the pallid beauty recognizable as Stygia. At the precise moment that the holographic overlay opened its eyes, the actual Stygia passed seamlessly through the illusion with a prettily predatory, fang exposed and carmine cape flapping pounce that terminated in dragging Wandblume down in a sultry bit of neck nuzzling coupled, ahem, with a liberal squirting of bodily fluids. Wandblume moaned as she succumbed : “...Stygia, Victorian Vamp vision!” The cape wrapped Shego in a struggling stretch of crimson that vanished into the stage cum cargo pod. Stygia, adopting the fang-bared, grasping pose of the classic Hammer horror vampiress, took her place with her assembled teammates.
A pallid, wraith-like Wandblume ‘floated’ out of the shadows, mist swirling about her ankles. In her very best over-the-top creature-of-the-night--What bullshit they do make!--, she keened:
“Where there’s kaijuu there’s senshi ; and our magical girl, Nocturne Raven, is particularly good at...” A flash of coruscating light lit up Nocturne Raven’s rainbow plugsuit as her voice indolently intoned : “Foul creature, I banish you with the light of my moons!” Twenty centimeters of bone-white magical light appeared to project exactly between ‘undead’ Wandblume’s breasts. “...dispatching abominations!” She double-died with ultra-extravagance ; her dispatcher joined the almost completed squad. A translucent Shego specter--there's no keeping her down--wafted into the air with the eerily stage whispered,
“Taking on such a team is Faustian enough to need Mephisto herself !” The floor of the stage sundered lurid cracks and rents of volcanic light out of which the sexily slinky Dies Irae rose upon plumes of brimstone and hellfire to take her rightful place at the head of the dramatically assembled team. “Dies Irae, daemon, mistress of mayhem, to whom do you and your team owe allegiance?”
The features of the women ensconced within the ovoid seats became more defined as both women leaned forward. Turning her horned head regally to take in the twin feminine egg-shell chairs situated at the far end of the vatican-scaled compartment, Dies Irae operatically intoned, “ Our hearts, our bodies, our very thews, who we are and who we will be belong to...” The lights doused abruptly. “...Not to your masters, but to...” The lights blazed anew to the sight of the squad’s plugsuits reconfigured to their actual electrostatic black & green colour configurations. “...Shego! For we are Shegoth!” “That’s lovely!” Yayoi said drolly, her right hand exerting pressure upon the tastefully subtle panic button set into the the control suite on the interior surface of her chair. Nothing happened.
Wandblume had been busy since her virtual vampirization. The chamber was, thanks to Van Loan-ian gadgetry, electromagnetically isolated from the rest of the facility. “It really is!” Wandblume exclaimed. “Pitchy, Raven, guard the door!” She smirked as she advanced on the twin chairs. “Stygia, Irae exact punishment! Umbra, two eggs, hard boiled!” “Yayoi, we installed that Zoltar escape system, right?” She wasn’t exactly panicky ; she was duly concerned. “Budgetary constraints, Mikuru.”
“Oh. Kuso!”
Umbra upended a chair, shook it ; dislodged the Yayoi yolk unceremoniously onto the floor. She proceeded to do the same to the Mikuru egg.
“W-what are you going to d-do to us?” Out of the egg, Mikuru was not nearly as calm & calculating : such is the power of a shell.
Stygia smiled a smile that would have been sweet if it were not for her incisive incisors. Dies Irae made a dramatic spanking motion against her delectable and nominally covered hip. “We’re going to put an end to our relationship with your organizations by tanning your ends.”
“That’s it? All of this for spankings?” Yayoi sounded downright astonished. “Well, that and your exquisite eggshell chairs!” Laughing, full-blown Shegotistical Wandblume swept her arms ‘skywards’ as she commanded, “ Just the fundament-als girls : enough to render rumps red for two or three days!”
“First, no self-deprecating goth team would be complete without at least one creepy little girl ; to that end I introduce the scythe-swirling scamp, Pitchy!” “Forlorn Furious Flurry Flourish loaded.” Sichel Mond, Pitchy’s Einheit (device) intoned in its mechanistic Austrian accent as Pitchy wielded it in an adorably dour display of spinning superficial slashing surface. She ended the performance with a dramatic plastic floor rap of scythe butt triggering the release of a swirling cotton-candy coloured cloud of dry ice. This rapping, venting upon the chamber floor , the cue to continue the cavalcade, led Wandblume on to the second part of her swaggeringly staggering spiel : “Sharp little girls require big, blunt sisters!” Umbra, effortlessly dragging a classic ball & chain leg shackle, plowed through the candy fog creating vortices and eddies picked out in obsessive clarity by laser light timed perfectly to her carbon dioxide disrupting entrance. “Gloomy doesn’t mean puny when Umbra’s in play!” The aforementioned amazon snapped the manacle, hoisted and spun the supposedly massy orb, flail like, over her head. The grinning white skull superbly sketched across the surface of the sphere speedily slurred into a spinning slash of chalk before being expertly and precisely released to crash into a pop-up steel headstone target. The resulting reverberatory reaction rang a dour knell that sounded the third stanza of Shego’s saga as Umbra took up a muscularly sullen pose next to Pitchy. “The bell tolls but not for the dead.” Shego intoned almost solemnly : that micro-beam, her perpetual fractal smirk, twitched her stagy glower. A baroque coffin rose up through the low lying remnants of Pitchy’s mist.
“This is the undeath knell, the irreligious return of...” The coffin, now a vertical disquieting jet monolith, opened on oiled hinges to reveal a desiccated plugsuited form that, before their very eyes returned to the pallid beauty recognizable as Stygia. At the precise moment that the holographic overlay opened its eyes, the actual Stygia passed seamlessly through the illusion with a prettily predatory, fang exposed and carmine cape flapping pounce that terminated in dragging Wandblume down in a sultry bit of neck nuzzling coupled, ahem, with a liberal squirting of bodily fluids. Wandblume moaned as she succumbed : “...Stygia, Victorian Vamp vision!” The cape wrapped Shego in a struggling stretch of crimson that vanished into the stage cum cargo pod. Stygia, adopting the fang-bared, grasping pose of the classic Hammer horror vampiress, took her place with her assembled teammates.
A pallid, wraith-like Wandblume ‘floated’ out of the shadows, mist swirling about her ankles. In her very best over-the-top creature-of-the-night--What bullshit they do make!--, she keened:
“Where there’s kaijuu there’s senshi ; and our magical girl, Nocturne Raven, is particularly good at...” A flash of coruscating light lit up Nocturne Raven’s rainbow plugsuit as her voice indolently intoned : “Foul creature, I banish you with the light of my moons!” Twenty centimeters of bone-white magical light appeared to project exactly between ‘undead’ Wandblume’s breasts. “...dispatching abominations!” She double-died with ultra-extravagance ; her dispatcher joined the almost completed squad. A translucent Shego specter--there's no keeping her down--wafted into the air with the eerily stage whispered,
“Taking on such a team is Faustian enough to need Mephisto herself !” The floor of the stage sundered lurid cracks and rents of volcanic light out of which the sexily slinky Dies Irae rose upon plumes of brimstone and hellfire to take her rightful place at the head of the dramatically assembled team. “Dies Irae, daemon, mistress of mayhem, to whom do you and your team owe allegiance?”
The features of the women ensconced within the ovoid seats became more defined as both women leaned forward. Turning her horned head regally to take in the twin feminine egg-shell chairs situated at the far end of the vatican-scaled compartment, Dies Irae operatically intoned, “ Our hearts, our bodies, our very thews, who we are and who we will be belong to...” The lights doused abruptly. “...Not to your masters, but to...” The lights blazed anew to the sight of the squad’s plugsuits reconfigured to their actual electrostatic black & green colour configurations. “...Shego! For we are Shegoth!” “That’s lovely!” Yayoi said drolly, her right hand exerting pressure upon the tastefully subtle panic button set into the the control suite on the interior surface of her chair. Nothing happened.
Wandblume had been busy since her virtual vampirization. The chamber was, thanks to Van Loan-ian gadgetry, electromagnetically isolated from the rest of the facility. “It really is!” Wandblume exclaimed. “Pitchy, Raven, guard the door!” She smirked as she advanced on the twin chairs. “Stygia, Irae exact punishment! Umbra, two eggs, hard boiled!” “Yayoi, we installed that Zoltar escape system, right?” She wasn’t exactly panicky ; she was duly concerned. “Budgetary constraints, Mikuru.”
“Oh. Kuso!”
Umbra upended a chair, shook it ; dislodged the Yayoi yolk unceremoniously onto the floor. She proceeded to do the same to the Mikuru egg.
“W-what are you going to d-do to us?” Out of the egg, Mikuru was not nearly as calm & calculating : such is the power of a shell.
Stygia smiled a smile that would have been sweet if it were not for her incisive incisors. Dies Irae made a dramatic spanking motion against her delectable and nominally covered hip. “We’re going to put an end to our relationship with your organizations by tanning your ends.”
“That’s it? All of this for spankings?” Yayoi sounded downright astonished. “Well, that and your exquisite eggshell chairs!” Laughing, full-blown Shegotistical Wandblume swept her arms ‘skywards’ as she commanded, “ Just the fundament-als girls : enough to render rumps red for two or three days!”
