The next moment seemed to last forever.
Funtimes' face was blank, with just the ghost of her heartbreak and indignation threatening sudden murder. An Epic like her wouldn't take hurt feelings in stride. Most likely, she'd comfort herself with a new tea set made out of her bones, or balloons inflated out of her skin, or one of a thousand gruesome trinkets her powers made available.
The Epic's mouth opened, and a crooked giggle rattled out. ""Okay," she chirped. "Black. With pink."
Sam cracked a nervous smile and nodded. She hated herself for groveling, but there was a time and a place for showing spine.
And that place wasn't dyed pink and laid out on Funtimes' coffee table.
There was a moment of thought on Funtimes' part, but she suddenly lifted her hand and waved it over the towel. Sam flinched, but no acid seared her flesh--it only changed color from pink to a matte black. Next the towel began to stretch and squirm over her body, shaping from a fluffy bathroom cloth to a pretty tasteful dress.
It actually kind of tickled. Cap sleeves crawled up her body and curled over her shoulders, while the top of the towel migrated south to make a low neckline. The hem dropped down her thighs to stop at her knees, but Funtimes wasn't done.
Next pillows were tossed through the air, which Sam caught on impulse. She held it awkwardly, unsure of what was coming next but pretty pleased to have not been murdered so far. She had to have broken some sort of "Annoyed Epics but didn't die" record by now.
Funtimes was veritably dancing around the room, tossing pillows and changing them into ruffles as they touched fabric. Shiny baubles spontaneously grew around Sam's hem and waist, and she almost lost balance as a pair of boots rose from the kitchen tiles to form high boots around her feet.
The maelstrom of ruffles ended quickly, and Funtimes was staring at Sam with stars in her eyes. "You. Look. Amazing!" she squealed, and did the unthinkable.
She ran forward and hugged Sam close, putting her thoroughly off-balance and compressing her ribs slightly. Sam let out an involuntary grunt, but otherwise tried to put on a smile.
"Perfect," she lied when Funtimes pulled away. "Best dress I have."
Technically true, since she didn't own any other dresses. She left out the part where she'd happily walk out of here in a loincloth if it just meant she could go back home.
Funtimes beamed, took another look at her creation, and widened her eyes abruptly. "Wait—where's Revvie? Did she find the dress I made her too?"
Given that she was hanging around barefoot in a bathrobe instead of wearing anything: almost certainly.
"No, I don't think so," Sam lied. "I don't think she's had a chance to change..."
Internally deciding that this qualified as helping a friend as opposed to selling her out to an Epic, Sam raised her voice and called through the cottage.
"Revolution! The Doctor's taking requests!"
The Emperor Lightwards, Epic necromancer and vanquisher of Death, stood trembling in his socks because of a bad dream.
He glared at the tangled foliage as if it were somehow the fake trees' fault, falling into his old anger to push away the fear.
Last night's terror had been all new. It was as if he were witnessing aspects of himself, not as glorious conquerors, but as pathetic invalids too wracked with neuroses to rule so much as a vulture.
One made ineffectual boasts of his future rule over the galaxy.
One curled into a ball and wept at the notion of Lucentia or Funtimes' wrath.
And the last one was the laugher, the one whom Lightwards had felt more and more with each passing dance with Death.
All of them dwelt within him.
Not one of them was fit to be a ruler.
And so the Emperor Lightwards glared at a thorn bush as if it had personally slighted him, grinding his teeth as he stuffed his pockets with bullets and made his way to a dirt path. He was becoming increasingly aware that his plans as they were now might be unrealistic, or hard to attain with his current strategies. He was rolling over before new Epics like a frightened dog, pretending that he was alpha when they held all the real power.
If he was to be a dog, let him be a wolf that would bite back.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"You seem to have made yourself at home," Lightwards observed, walking into the smoky forest clearing. Aldo the Enigmatic and his surly assistant had made themselves a campfire, and appeared to be roasting sausages over the flames. The scent of cooked breakfast meat wafted over the forest, attracting no small number of idly standing dinosaurs.
Most of the campfire had been built to carry the smell of the sausages to the tightly bound Unicyclist, however, which seemed to be deliberate.
"I see no reason not to," replied the beaming magician, who was already wearing his trademark cape and top hat. "This empire has the potential to stand a long, long time."
He sampled a sausage, grimaced as if it were slightly burnt, but smiled warmly again. "Of course, I look forward to the day that this empire encompasses a well-stocked kitchen."
Lightwards frowned. "Before long we will have an entire city at our disposal, along with everyone in it. Be patient."
"Of course." Aldo gestured towards the bound Epic by the tree. "Have you put thought into our guest here?
"I have." With a gesture Lightwards had one of his remaining human Warriors pick up the battered Vader helmet off the dirt floor, lifting it high. The tied Epic's eyes gravitated immediately towards it--while the man seemed determined to remain stoic, there was a glint of desperation in those eyes.
Gnaw him free, Lightwards thought firmly, putting every ounce of his concentration into the thought. A pair of raptors seemed to receive the message, moving towards the man with their mouths pulled slightly open.
A flash of terror seemed to fall over the man's face as the raptors closed in on him, but to his surprise and Lightwards' vindication, they were almost gentle in using their fangs to slowly rip the binds.
Lightwards was less gentle in what happened next. As the last bind was torn he pulled the heavy pistol from his belt, levied it at the man's leg, and fired.
There was an immediate gunshot and the sound of the man's scream of anguish, as he slumped against the tree trunk with a curse.
A smile spread across Lightwards' face.
"I believe you possess a healing capability," he remarked, walking closer to the agonized man and flourishing his gun. "At least, you're far less useful to me if you don't, so I'm hardly losing anything if you bleed out."
He smiled down at the man, making sure to show teeth. He'd made a few guesses about the man's power from his attachment to his belongings--it was time to see if they were correct.
"It would be a simple task," he continued, relishing the temporary power, "for my Warriors of Light to bring you the instruments you require to heal yourself. Your helmet, your bagpipes... all could be returned to you before that artery runs dry.
"But for me to give that order, I will require assurance that you will choose the right side in the battles to come. Quit whimpering and tell me: can I count on keeping you as a soldier in the upcoming war?"
